A Matter of Time
by The Ninth Circle
Summary: In 2012, nearly two years after leaving Walford, devastating news forces Christian and Syed to return there and face the demons of their past. Christian/Syed.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I needed to upload this chapter because otherwise I'll never do it. That's the reason it's really short, but, believe me, you'll be grateful when you see the length of some of the later chapters! This is based in 2012, but is largely composed of flashbacks to 2009 and 2010. I really wanted to explore what Syed is risking by being with Christian. I love the dynamic of their relationship, but I think the thing I love about it the most is how deep Syed's feelings for Christian must run if he's willing to risk losing so much by being with him._

_This was started at the beginning of September, when there was limited knowledge available about what's happening now. So, you can safely say the story goes AU from the 21st August onward, because I'm not psychic. Though I'm still writing, so anything that happens on-screen that fits the plot may be incorporated._

_All you need to know is that Christian and Syed left Walford in early 2010, and so they've now been together for nearly two years. How that came to be is all explained in future chapters. I really wanted to see them in a comfortable and settled relationship first, before throwing them headlong into all the angst they had to go through to get to that point. _

_February 2012 _

"I know it's hard, but you've got to make a choice eventually."

"I know, it's just too hard."

"Do you want me to choose for you?"

"No! No. I think this is something I need to do for myself," he said. "It's got to be the Coco Pops, though."

He handed him the cereal box with mock solemnity. "I knew you'd make the right choice."

While preparing his breakfast, he considered the advanced culinary skills it required and commented, "As one former caterer and one present caterer, we really ought to cook actual meals."

Christian scoffed. "But that would involve actual effort."

"Yeah, everything's got its downsides," he said, then had a mouthful of the cereal and pulled a face. "These are actually stale. Looks like it was the wrong choice after all."

"Nah, they're both probably a bit stale. We haven't been shopping in ages."

Syed shook his head, pointing an accusatory finger. "_You _haven't been shopping in ages. Shopping is your job."

"It is not," he said, then started counting off chores on his fingers, "I have hoovering, washing up, paying the bills and putting the washing out. You have _food shopping_, doing the washing, cleaning the toilet and the cooking. Which is why we never have anything in and we always have takeaways."

"I knew we should've made a chart," he muttered.

"No, because that goes from '_gay_' into _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy _territory and we're just not ready for that yet."

"Stuff would get done a lot more if you didn't just change whatever your jobs are whenever you don't want to do one. And I can't remember what your jobs are, so you get away with it. On the other hand, if we had actual written documentation... you just don't want to be held accountable."

"I can't believe we're having a fight about our _chores_. How domestic."

Syed looked around himself, confused. "This is a fight?"

"When it doesn't involve screaming and plate-smashing, it's kind of hard to tell."

"When did we get so _boring_? The days of yore, when we'd accuse each other of ruining the other's life and throw things at each other's heads..." he trailed off, sighing nostalgically. "It was _amazing_."

"Those days are gone. Now we're stuck having a barely-above-polite-conversation volume _discussions _about who's to blame for stale cereal," he said.

Syed shook his head, his lips pressed together. "The passion has gone out of our arguments. It's such a sad day."

He put a clenched fist to his chest. "We shall mourn this day."

Syed grinned. "So, seriously. I'll pop in and get some things on the way home, shall I?"

"Nah, I'll do it. I'm actually fairly sure it was my job originally."

"I knew it."

"Anyway, I finish at five and you know how Tesco's meat and things tend to be funny after six," Christian said."Maybe I could get some stuff and actually _cook_."

"Would this cooking involve things that actually resemble the things they were before they were in the shop?"

"Yes."

He gasped. "Somebody wants sex."

"I do a nice thing and it's all about sex. How selfish do you think I am?"

"When it comes to getting sex? On a scale of one to ten? About an eleven."

"I would argue, but... what's the point?" he said. "It'd been six whole hours since last time and by the time I get home from work it'll have been fourteen! And once all the cooking's done, sixteen! I mean, that's just ridiculous."

"Sixteen hours of celibacy! How will we cope?" Syed gasped.

Christian shook his head disapprovingly. "And the moral of the story is: don't ignore your alarm."

"Moral learned. I still have about ten minutes before I'm beyond-the-point-of-no-return-late..."

"Ten minutes is underestimating me a bit," Christian replied with mock-offence.

The phone started ringing. "Ignore it," Syed murmured.

"Who rings the house phone?" Christian asked glibly. It might be important."

"Or it might be a telemarketer."

He picked it up with a defiant flourish. "_Hallo_."

"You sound happy," Jane said, her voice low and cracking. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"You, on the other hand, do not," Christian replied, convinced she'd been arguing with Ian or something silly. He didn't really want to think about the fact that Jane wouldn't ring him over something daft.

She laughed mirthlessly. It sounded a lot like she'd been crying, and he tried not to be concerned. "No, I'm not. I'm really not."

"Are you okay? Is it Ian? Are you two splitting up? Is it the kids?"

"No... it's none of those things," she said, quietly. "I don't really want to say it on the phone."

"Jane, you're scaring me," Christian said, and sensed Syed's concerned eyes on him.

"It's just..." Whatever it was, it was on the tip of her tongue, just then, he could tell. "There's nothing... I really want to see you."

"I know it's been a while, babe," Christian said. "I've just been busy."

"No, I understand," she replied. "I'd just really like to see you face-to-face."

"In Walford?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Syed's head shoot up at the word.

"Yes. In Walford. I would come up there but..."

He watched Syed trying to hide the fact that the mention of the word _Walford _had shook him up. "Oh, Jane, I don't know if I can..."

"_Please_, Christian."

"I will if you tell me what's wrong. And don't you dare say _nothing_, because I can tell when something's really wrong with you."

Jane struggled to find a breath. "It's just... they've found some abnormal cells..."

On a list of things he had been expecting, that came somewhere near the bottom. He'd been expecting Ian to have been playing away or something, though he'd probably have wondered at Jane not being secretly relieved to have a reason to get rid at long last. "_What_?"

He could hear her struggling not to cry. "I-I found a lump. It was tiny, minuscule. But I've always been hyper-aware of these things, especially since Ste... well, you know. So, thinking I was being paranoid, I went to Dr. Al and expected him to tell me off for wasting his time or something. But..."

"_But_?"

"Like I said. Abnormal cells," she replied, trying to keep her tone diplomatic. "I've got an appointment with the oncologist this afternoon, so it's not been officially-officially confirmed yet, but they think it's... well, they think it's breast cancer."

"_Cancer_," Christian repeated. The word felt bitter on his tongue, and it felt like it was burning a hole down his throat into his stomach. It was amazing that that single word that could break hearts and destroy lives in a moment.

"But Dr. Al said if it is cancer- which it's not definitely, yet- they've got it really early and chances are I'll be fine..." she said, her tone trying for jovial, but falling several notes short.

"Then why do you sound so scared?" he whispered.

"It's... _cancer_, Christian," she replied, sounding sick with terror. "What do you expect? I'm petrified."

"I'll call in sick at work, all right?" Christian told her. "Catch the soonest train up I can, all right?"

"You don't have to do that," she insisted. "There's no rush."

He tutted. "Of course there's a rush!"

"I know how much trouble it is for you here..." she said.

He banged his hand against the table, startling Syed. "Fuck the trouble! You're my _sister_, for Christ's sake. You really think I care about all that when you're... look, I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"Christian, do me a favour. Please, keep calm. There's no point in you getting yourself worked up over this. It won't help anything, will it? Ian's gone into meltdown and I know the kids are just going to be a mess and I really need someone who can keep it together, because God knows I can't.

When she sounded so desperate, it was hard to ignore her request. He shoved down his own feelings of panic, reminding himself if he was feeling this bad, she must be feeling ten times worse. "Right, okay. There, I'm calm as a summer's day," Christian said, his tone smooth. "See you later, okay? Really soon later."

"See you," she somehow managed. He was fairly sure the last syllable was a stifled sob.

Christian dropped the phone to the table with a clatter that echoed through the flat and stared at it for a few moments. Then he felt Syed's hands cover his and looked up into his concerned eyes. "What is it? What's wrong? All I heard was _cancer_..."

"Well, you don't need to hear much more than that, do you? It's not her star sign," he said. He stood up. "I... need to... do things."

Syed got up and gently pushed him back down into his seat. It didn't take much effort, he felt like he weighed nothing, like his mind was disconnected from his body. "Christian, just take five minutes, okay? You need to get your head sorted before you get anything else sorted."

"Right," he said, flatly.

"Having a panic attack isn't going to help anything, is it? So, breathing."

"It's just... I wasn't expecting _that,_" Christian told him.

"Nobody ever does," Syed replied. "What did she say, exactly?"

"That they're not completely sure whether it's cancer or not but they actually are sure, they just haven't got the sack to say it yet," he said. "_If _she has, which she does, they've got it early."

"That's good, though?" he asked.

"Yeah," Christian replied, then snorted. "As good as news about cancer gets, I suppose."

"Yeah, see? She's going to be fine."

"You're coming with me, right?" Christian asked.

Syed nodded slowly. It was hard to tell if the slowness was deliberate or an accidental show of reluctance. "And leave you alone in this state? In _Walford_, of all places?" he asked, incredulously. He said Walford as if it were a particularly nasty expletive. "There's a reason I haven't had a day off in two years, for times like this."

"Nothing to do with a promotion?" he asked wryly.

"Nothing," he said. He put a reassuring hand on Christian's shoulder. "I'll pack the bags. I've done it enough over the years. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I think I'm rather good at it."

"Okay," he whispered.

"You just try and calm yourself down, okay? I'll be twenty minutes, tops," Syed said. He stopped before he got to their bedroom door. "How long do you think we're going to be staying for?"

Christian shrugged. He wondered why Syed was asking- to see how much time he needed to book off work or to find out how long the torture was going to last. "A few days, maybe? A week?"

At this response, Syed looked decidedly unenthusiastic. Christian wasn't particularly excited about it, either. They'd had no plans to return to Walford at any point. All the place contained for them was bad memories and some people they'd rather never see again.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for the lovely reviews! Okay, this is a really long chapter. I could have made it shorter, but I think Certain Things in this chapter make a lot more emotional impact if they're set in context. Also, herein lie flashbacks. They're not going to be linear- for example, there are flashbacks in this chapter that happen after the reveal, but how the reveal happens is not... revealed (*groan*) for a few chapters yet. I hope that makes some sort of sense. But feel free to ask any questions and I'll answer them if they're not answered later on in the story._

_There's not a lot of Christian/Syed in this chapter, but though this fic __is __about their story, there are obviously lots of other things at work and there are a few chapters in which there is little Syed-Christian interaction, though the impact of their relationship is felt throughout._

_Enjoy!_

xxx

Driving into Walford was like how Syed imagined stepping out the TARDIS felt, when the companions went back to their hometowns in the past or the future. It was so familiar, yet there was something vaguely off about it. Lots of little minor changes and things barely noticeable to the human eye, and yet collectively made for unsettling viewing. He felt off-balance, here. He had so many bad memories and emotions associated with the place that coming back brought to the surface. The feelings of anger and resentment which had faded because of time reared their ugly heads in full force. Everywhere he looked, there was a bad memory associated with it. He parked up and stared at his ex-home for a few moments.

He looked sideways at Christian, who looked too pained to be thinking about anything but the present. He tried to push down his regrets about coming here, reminding himself why he came and telling the black little voice in the back of his mind whispering that he should have made up an excuse to stay away to shut up. Syed had always been something of a coward, but he wasn't running away this time. This time, he didn't really have a choice, though. Christian needed him or at least _would _need him at some point and he couldn't just abandon him. Especially since Christian had done more than his fair share of comforting and hand-holding in this relationship in the past couple of years. It was his turn.

Getting out of the car, he was planning on quite literally keeping his head down in case anyone recognised him. His choice of hat wasn't just chosen for its ability to keep out the cold. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple of people he'd known, but there was nobody that he wanted to hide from. That was mainly because all the people he wanted to hide from had names ending with Masood, and they were either trying to preserve the Masood name at work or off making the Masood name proud at Oxford. The only non-Masood he didn't want to see had left Walford not long after he and Christian had and, if Jane was to be believed, she had no intention of returning.

They stood for a couple of minutes, making small talk. Christian was trying to put off having to see his sister, that much was obvious. Syed knew a lot about believing that avoiding a problem was akin to it not existing. If Christian wanted to live in delusion a few minutes longer, Syed couldn't exactly begrudge him that. Christian looked so desolate, Syed just wanted to take his hand or something to remind him he wasn't alone. But looking at all the people that were around, he couldn't bring himself to. One of the few bones of contention left between him and Christian was Syed's aversion to public displays of affection. He'd always maintained that their relationship was private and he wanted it to stay that way, while Christian said he just didn't want people to know he was gay. Everyone in Walford probably knew anyway. After all, it didn't take much of a mental capability to figure out what it meant when a man disappeared at the same time as his gay ex-coworker who had been fired under mysterious circumstances by that man's mother, not long after his fiancée called off the wedding for no apparent reason. Despite knowing this he still couldn't manage it. Being back here brought out the character traits he'd rather forget he had.

"Right, I'd better go," Christian announced unsteadily.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked. "I could come with you, if you want."

"Nah, I think Jane was hoping for a one-on-one."

"Okay. Well, you know where I am," Syed said, gesturing with his thumb towards the car.

"Yep. See you," Christian replied. Syed took a nervous look around and then leaned forward to kiss Christian's cheek quickly. Christian smiled at him, nervously, but he seemed reassured. That was absolutely worth the violation of his normal rules.

Just as he had finally gathered together the courage to go see his sister, fate intervened. Actually, being more accurate, it was more like fate had gotten a bit bored and asked the question 'what could possibly make Christian Clarke's day even worse?' and provided him with the answer: a Pakistani accent that was far too familiar even after all this time. Worse, the voice was calling his name. Against his better judgement, he attempted to ignore her and walked faster, but, without breaking into an all-out run, there was no way she was going to let him out of her sight. He wasn't going to let Zainab know he was frightened of her.

"Christian! Christian!" she called. Her voice could shatter glass, he'd swear it.

Realising it was impossible to ignore her, he turned on his heel. "That's some eye you've got."

"The walk gives you away," she said. "What are you doing here?"

"My sister has cancer," Christian replied thickly. "I thought that was justification enough for breaking the whole 'never darken our door again' thing."

Zainab nodded, looking contrite. "Of course. I'm sorry."

"An apology from Zainab Masood. What a rare and beautiful thing," he replied. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her eyes were glued to the floor. "How... how is Syed?" she murmured.

"_Your son_, you mean."

She shot him an irritated glance. Clearly her being civil to him was the means to an end. As if he hadn't known that. "Is he okay? That's all I need to know."

"Well, depends on what you mean by 'okay'," Christian told her.

"He's angry?"

"No, _I'm _angry. _He'_s heartbroken," Christian said. "I mean, it's not as bad as it was at first, but you can tell it still kills him. I mean every time Eid came around...

"He still goes to mosque?" she asked. He couldn't tell if she was pleased or not.

"If you want his timetable, I'll have him fax you it over."

Zainab was silent for a moment and he took it to really look at her. Her hair was considerably greyer than he'd last seen it, now, which he hadn't realised at first. It was the stress of having a baby in her forties, he imagined. Or the distress of losing her son to a man. Or the fact that her family was in pieces. Not that he actually cared or anything. "I miss him. Terribly," she said. It came out like it was a huge effort to admit it out loud.

"Well, maybe you should've thought of that before you cast him out, eh?"

Her eyes slid away from his. "I didn't cast him out."

"You didn't leave him much choice either, though, did you?"

Their voices were getting louder and people were glancing over. Zainab waited for them to pass and took a step forward, lowering her voice. "What else was I supposed to do? _Encourage _him to sin?"

"You should've wanted to see him happy, no matter what your close-minded community said."

"You were so busy _flaunting _it," she said, seething, "you never even tried to understand our view, though you expected us to take yours as granted."

Christian closed his eyes, irritated. "I don't tend to listen a view that tells me I can only be a good person if I pretend to be something I'm not."

Zainab exhaled and turned her head away from him, staring at something in the distance. He saw a certain mother-son resemblance. It was exactly what Syed did when he knew he was fighting a losing battle. This argument had been designated a stalemate long ago. The odds of her changing her views were about equal to him changing his. She clearly realised its pointlessness and the fact it wasn't scoring her any points with the only person on the planet who could tell her where Syed was. "Why is he not with... you? Have the two of you had a falling out?"

"Living in hope, are we?" he asked ."He... couldn't get out of work."

Her eyes lit up. "Where is he working?"

Christian raised his eyebrows. "You really think I'm going to give you _hints _to track him down? If he wants to get in contact, he will."

"I... will you let him know that I'd like to see him?" she asked.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "Do it yourself."

She stared at him as if he'd just said something unbelievably stupid. "I don't know where he is!" she burst out. The _'you idiot'_ part was implied.

"About five hundred yards thattaway," he whispered, pointing. "Don't tell him I told you, though. Say you saw him. His hair is in desperate need of cutting, that sounds very you. Kills two birds with one stone, as well. His hair really is awful."

"Oh, thank you." She almost looked like she was going to hug him for a second before she remembered herself.

"An apology and a thank-you in the same conversation. Is this Walford or Bizarro World?" Christian said. "And, for the record, I'm not doing it for you. In fact, I'd be quite glad for you to stay away from him forever, but he's missed you so much. He's been hoping to see you, but didn't know whether you'd want to see him."

She looked around, her head practically doing an _Exorcist _twist in the process. "Where is he?"

"In the car," Christian told her.

"In that car?" she asked, looking impressed.

"Yes, in _that _car. Syed's done rather well for himself, if I should say so myself. All those years and all he needed was me. Funny how that works."

xxx

Zainab tapped on the window, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She could only see a vague outline of him, even from this distance. His hair really did need cutting. He rolled down the window and looked vaguely apprehensive. He saw her and his face softened, making him look twenty years younger. A memory came up of Syed, seven years old and deciding that he hated them all and was going to run away from home. She'd dismissed it as overdramatic silliness and returned to her load of washing. Ten minutes later, a tiny Tamwar had toddled up and pronounced his brother 'gwon'. She'd expected to find him in the garden shed or something. Of course, he hadn't been. He'd turned him two hours later, accompanied by two police officers. The look on his face was perfectly mirrored now- he looked lost, scared and confused. But there had been an element of smugness in his expression, like _look how far I got_. Apparently he'd been found wandering in town seven miles away. It hadn't been much, but it was present. That wasn't the case now. Then, she hadn't known whether to throttle him or cuddle him. Now, there was no conflict in her mind. He unlocked the door and her hand flew to the handle, yanking the door open. Her arms were around him and she didn't think she'd even felt someone so solid beneath her embrace. It was like the three years' separation all over again, except last time she hadn't been involved in his leaving.

She released him for a moment and took a step back to take a proper look at him. He was dressed all in black, a look that had never suited him and made him look sallow. She supposed it was appropriate for the occasion, though. He was thinner than she'd ever seen him and he'd never been anything more than slender. He was almost at the point of looking unhealthy. For a short moment, she considered HIV and tried to push the thought down. One odd thing was that he was older- he'd had two birthdays since she'd seen him last, she thought miserably- but he looked younger. Maybe it was the look of vulnerability or the way he was clinging to the sleeves of his jumper- no vests, she noted with relief- but she wasn't sure. She remembered looking in a mirror a couple of weeks after she'd moved to England with Masood, her burns were barely healed but she still remembered thinking how she looked ten years younger. She'd been twenty-one and even looking ten years younger, she'd still looked older than she actually was. She'd wondered aloud to Mas if love was the ultimate beauty treatment.

"Mum," he said. "_Mum_."

She cupped his chin and stroked his face gently. She couldn't believe he was actually here in the same place as her. She'd had so many ridiculous worries about where he was and what he was doing and with who. But he was still the same. He was still her little boy, really. "Oh, I've missed you so much, son. So much."

"Me too," Syed admitted in a quiet voice.

She wrapped his arms around him and he hugged her back tightly. She was slightly embarrassed by the amount she was crying, but his eyes weren't exactly empty if the dampness on her shoulder was anything to go by. He pulled back, sniffing and wiped his eyes quickly. "How did you know I was here?"

She looked at the floor, scratching her nose. "Uh, just motherly instinct," she said, then added as an afterthought, "It's a powerful thing, you know."

Syed raised an eyebrow. "Christian told you, didn't he?"

She flinched slightly at the use of his name. It was not something she heard often. "He had the best intentions, I'm sure."

He sighed. "I thought he would. I was hoping he would, anyway. He was always telling me to ring you or come up or something, but I just..." He paused. "I didn't think you'd want me to."

"I got the impression that he..."

"...hates you? Yeah, he does, a little. But he knows I'd never be totally happy without..." Syed trailed off. "I rang Tam a couple of times and he said you were still..."

Her eyes widened, surprised. "You did?"

"I'm surprised he _didn't _tell you. Good on him," he said, proudly. "Don't be angry at him. I threatened his life. Or to tell everyone he had a cuddly toy named Snuggles until he was fourteen. I can't remember which was more important to him."

"Yes, it was indeed odd how it disappeared when we did his room up."

Syed smiled at the memory, but it soon faded away with a more recent memory of his little brother. "He said I should stay away."

"He did?"

"Well, you know how he felt about Am... you know how he felt," he said. "It was sound advice, I'm sure. He said you were... well, I dunno, but he said Dad's still in a bad place with it."

"Your father is still... he's not angry, exactly. But I suppose he was never really angry. He's just..."

"Ashamed?"

She didn't answer him, preferring to start digging through her pockets. "You should see your little brother. He looks just like you. Well, just like you with a bit of Shabnam thrown in."

His head shot up at the mention of her name. "Shabnam... does she know?"

Clearly her throat, she started giving her son what Masood liked to call her 'Mosque version', wherein everything was perfect and lovely and Syed was just fine in Pakistan, thank-you, "She visited not long ago. She adores Pakistan, you know. And it's really calmed her down. Really, before she went, she was getting far too Western. She's really found herself. You should really consi..."

Syed rolled his eyes. Though he'd fooled her more times than she cared to think about, she'd never been able to fool him. "Does she _know_?" he repeated.

"I never told her," she snapped, exasperated. "Did you seriously expect me to, Syed?"

A part of her was expecting him to go off into a Christian-style rant about how there was nothing to hide, because it was nothing to be ashamed of but instead he merely said, "Okay."

She blinked at him "You're not angry?"

He shrugged. "It's nice there's actually someone I love who _doesn't _know. Do you know when she's visiting again?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said. "Whenever she feels like it, I suppose."

"I've really missed her," he told her.

"You two were too much alike, the pair of you," she said, but she was smiling fondly. "A bad influence on each other. Any bad thing either of you did was encouraged and worsened by the other."

"And then there was sweet, uncorruptable Tamwar."

"You two certainly tried your best to change that fact," she said, before placing the purse in his hand. "Here."

He looked at the photo, a small smile playing on his lips. A shadow passed his face, but it was gone in a moment. Though she didn't know her son anywhere near as well as she'd "Well, he's certainly a handsome young thing."

Zainab stared at him, hard, and thought she saw sadness lingering just beyond the surface of his face. "What is it?"

"What's what?" Syed asked.

"You looked... thoughtful, there."

"Terrible, that is," he said, faintly. "Thoughtfulness."

"Syed."

"I was just thinking that that's what my son would look like," he admitted, quietly.

Her heart sank at the words. Not just the words themselves, the sentiment of which had caused her much grief over the last couple of years, but the sadness with which they were expressed. "Oh, Syed."

"Leave it, Mum," he said. Then his face brightened. It was such a fast one-eighty that Zainab could only suspect fakery was at work. "So, Kamil. How old is he now? Two?"

"He turned two a couple of weeks ago now."

"Wonderful reputation that age's got. Good luck with that."

She laughed a one-note laugh. "He was a lovely baby. He made things a lot easier than... I was expecting them to be," she said. "Right. Anyway, I have to get home. Leave your father home alone with a baby and that baby ends up being fed chocolate sauce and icing," she said. "You should come."

He sighed and looked away from her. "I don't know, Mum."

"Where are you staying? I hope you don't plan on sleeping in here. It's a nice car, but a bit cramped for an extended stay."

"No, I think I'll be staying with the Beales," Syed told her.

"Ian?" she said, disgusted. "You'll be _suicidal _by the end of your visit."

"I think it speaks volumes when _Ian _is less judgmental than you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're saying Ian's company is preferable to mine?"

"Not in so many words..." he said. He kept his eyes trained on the market stall. "It's just Christian's going to be staying there."

"You've spent every day with him for the past two years. You can be apart from him for a few days, no?"

"I think he'll need me," he mumbled, so quietly she barely made it out. "Plus, I don't much fancy having to watch everyone pretend to be okay with the whole thing when nobody is, especially not me. It'll be... uncomfortable."

"You can come over tonight, though?" she asked. "Not to stay, just to be."

"Not tonight. Best give Dad some warning."

Her smile was shaky and unconvincing. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," he confirmed. "And... I know this is pointless asking, but please don't make a fuss. It's not worth it. Really, the last thing I want this to seem like a... celebration. And I can't imagine Dad would be happy to see it that way, either.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she assured him.

She gave him a quick hug, rearranged her wallet and clothes and dried her tears with the heel of her hand. "I really have missed you."

He nodded. "I've missed you, too," he said.

Watching her walk away, getting smaller and smaller, he wondered if she'd ran to the window, watched him go when he left. He wondered how long she'd cried. She'd had his baby brother to keep her occupied, he supposed. He wondered how she'd broken the news to Tamwar and Masood. He wondered how they'd reacted. There had been nights he'd lain awake, so desperate to ring home and just ask how they were, because the questions had driven him mad. He'd only broken his resolve a couple of times and Tamwar had given him such a frosty reception- though, surprisingly had never actually hung up- he'd limited it to those times. Those conversations with his brother had been a massive weight of his shoulders, but seeing her and knowing she was okay was a totally different thing. His mind kept comparing the woman that had sat before him today and the woman he'd left behind all those months ago. They barely seemed to resemble each other.

_April 2010 _

He really ought to have been better at packing by now, he thought. He had plenty of experience of it, and his mother had attempted to teach a number of times before he'd gone off to university. But he was always too impatient and ended up balling all his clothes up, shoving them in the suitcase and deciding to leave it to Future Syed to worry about the ironing. With his mind being in red alert state, his clothes were just a blur of colour and material. He could have been packing all t-shirts and no trousers, and he'd have been none the wiser. His brain kept throwing up random suggestions and he just went with it. There was no rhyme and reason to it. Who the hell needed soap containers, anyway? He hadn't even picked up any _soap_.

"Syed, what are you doing? Are you actually sorting your room out like I as... what _are _you doing?"

He pushed past her to his cupboard- all he could picture was Amira falling out of it, into his arms- and grabbed another bunch of stuff he couldn't have identified if he'd been asked.

"Syed." She sounded terrified.

He avoided her eyes carefully. "I'm sorry."

"_What for_? What have you done?"

"You already know what I've done," Syed said, throwing some unindentifiable object into his hold-all. I actually think it's a matter of public record these days."

Grabbing his hands, obviously trying to get him to stop moving for two seconds. He pulled them out of her grasp. "What are you talking about? Syed, you're scaring me. Why are you... where are you going?"

"I don't know."

"Syed, stop. Please, for a second. Just stop. Explain to me."

He didn't want to stop; he couldn't. He knew if he started thinking about it, he would back down and let Christian walk out of his life and he couldn't let that happen again. This time, it would be permanent and he couldn't stand the thought of that. He just couldn't. "I have to go, Mum. I... just do."

"You don't _have _to do anything."

Syed snorted. "You were of a different opinion a couple of months ago."

Realisation dawned on her face and she shook her head. "No. Not this. Not again. You said that you didn't..."

"I _lied_, okay, Mum?" Syed snapped, immediately hating himself for it. "You should be used to that by now."

"Think about this. _Really _think about this," she said. Her voice was, to untrained ears, calm and reasonable, but he could hear the blind panic underneath the syllables. "You are leaving _everything_ behind."

"I'm _sorry_. Mum, God, I am _so sorry_. But..." he faltered, hung his head. "I have to do this."

"No, you don't. You're just being irrational."

"Yes, I am being irrational. Completely and utterly irrational. I never claimed to be being anything _near _rational," he said. "Rationality never got me anywhere. In fact, being rational got me _here_."

"What's wrong with here? You can't claim to have had a bad life, Syed."

"I know, it's... I love you, Mum and I appreciate all you've done for me but..."

"But?"

"I can't do this anymore... I just..." he fumbled for the words, and just went for the truth in the end, "I need to get away from here."

"Away from us?" his mum asked, voice full of barely supressed hurt.

"No! I love you... I love you so much, but..."

"You love _him _more?" she asked, disgustedly.

"Of course not! It's... not even... it's not even comparable."

"Well, you're choosing him over us, aren't you?" Zainab asked.

"I'm not. I'm _not_," Syed insisted. "Don't ever think that."

"So, what is your big life plan? Pack up your suitcase and live on the travelling circus? What? You can't tell me you've actually thought this through."

"I'll sort something. I always do," Syed said, hoping he sounded more confident than he was.

"If you leave, you'll have _nothing_. You understand that? No safety net, no financial security, _nothing_."

He managed to look her in the eye. "I understand."

"Do you? Do you _really_? When this all blows up in your face, you won't be able to come crawling back to us. Not again."

"It's okay. Because this isn't going to blow up in my face," he said. Though he knew, _rationally_, that he had no idea, he'd never been surer of anything in his life.

"You don't know that for sure. You can't place any bets on things like this, Syed. The pair of you have been living in a bubble for the past year, you don't understand how hard it is, the monotony of being with someone day in, day out, sometimes. I'm sure it was all very exciting when you were playing at _forbidden love _or whatever it was you were pretending it was. But is it going to be the same when you're struggling for rent or arguing over who unclogs the toilet, huh?"

Syed's face crumpled. He'd never seen his mum so desperate, so unmasked. Without her bravado, she was just a woman. He forgot that fact sometimes, he was so intimidated by her. She was just a woman who wanted the best for her children. For the past couple of months, he had been miserable and somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he had held her responsible for his misery. But she wasn't to blame. She wasn't the one who'd lied to her family for months, lied to her fiancé, lied to the person she loved, lied to herself. She wasn't the one who had made the wrong decision and had lived for months resenting the very people who were just trying to do their best by her. His hands were shaking as he zipped up the bag. His resolve was fading, he could feel it. Staring at this broken woman, so unlike the mother who daunted over his childhood like a terrifying giant, it was hard to justify his actions. So hard. He'd lied to her endlessly and had, in her eyes, committed a huge sin many times, which she had forgiven him. She would have been well in her rights to have kicked him out and to have disowned him. But she hadn't, she'd even given him a _choice_. It wasn't her fault he'd made the wrong one. All these weeks, he'd been so angry at her, but he'd never even attempted to understand her. Now, he finally understood and it was too late, because it didn't change anything. He had to go. He had a choice and this time he was making the right one.

"Mum, I..." he faltered, trying to talk around the lump in his throat. He needed to say this. "I _love him_. And I know it's hard for you to hear and even harder for you to understand, but I do. I can't let him walk out of my life. The last couple of months have been the worst of my entire life, and let me tell you, there are some real contenders there. I can't imagine my life without him in it. Well, I can, actually, it would be just like the last couple of months except without accidentally bumping into him and... Mum, he'd look at me and I'd broken his heart- not just once but over and over again, and _he still loved me. _It would only last ten seconds, if that, but... those moments were the only things that got me through. How sad is that?"

Her eyes widened. Her expression was a mixture of confusion and sadness. "But it's not... you can't talk about it like... _it's not right_."

"I know, Mum. But I don't care. Well, I do. Of course I _care_. But... it doesn't seem so important anymore. I can stand the thought of losing my faith, Mum, but I can't stand the thought of losing him."

"Can you stand the thought of losing us?"

Syed didn't answer, he just stared intently at the bag and threw it over his shoulder.

"Well, can you?"

"You haven't left me a lot of choice."

She stared at him incredulously. "I gave you plenty of choice. You had plenty of opportunity to do this before... why did you wait until everything was on its way to back to being okay again?"

"I know," he whispered. "But... I... I just... he's _going_, Mum, and... I can't let him go alone. I can't let him go."

"Please don't do this to me, Syed. Not again."

He shook his head. "It's too late. I need to go."

"Syed..."

"_Please_, Mum. Just let me go. I need you to let me go."

"I can't. I'm sorry, I can't let you do this. I can't stop you, but I can't _let _you. I would be doing wrong."

"I'm going anyway, no matter what you say."

Her voice was suddenly emotionless, deadly calm. The fact that he could hear nothing but resolution in her tone unnerved him. "If you leave, don't think you can just saunter back into our lives. Once your choice has been made this time, there's no going back."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm going to miss you," he said, voice wavering. "Tell Dad and Tam I'll miss them."

"I hope you understand you are making the biggest mistake of your life," Zainab told him. This was not an attempt to get him onside, it was simply a statement of fact as far as she was concerned.

"No, I made the biggest mistake of my life by losing him before. There's no way I'm letting that happen again," he said. "Isn't this what everyone said about you and Dad?"

"What are you talking about?" Zainab asked.

"The scars, Mum. I remember hearing a story about a girl who got burned in a fire for having an affair with an unsuitable man. It didn't take me long to put two and two together."

"Don't you dare compare this to your father and I. Don't you _dare_," she hissed.

Syed looked at her, begging her for a moment of empathy. "But... you have to understand because of that. Why I have to do this."

He saw it- just for a moment, her face flickered with uncertainty. Soon it was gone, and her mind was a closed book to him again. "I can't."

He shook his head. "Mum... I love you."

"Do you really love him more than me? More than Tamwar and... and your father? Shabnam? Your baby brother?"

"It's apples and oranges, Mum... I don't know..." he said. "I don't know. This isn't because I love him differently or better or worse... he just... with him, I don't have to pretend to be anything." He kissed her on the cheek. "Goodbye, Mum. I'm going to miss you so much. Tell Dad and Tamwar... just tell them... that I love them."

She reached out to touch his face. "Syed..."

Not able to meet her eye as he did so, he gently removed her hand from his cheek. "I'm sorry. I wish things could be different."

The last thing he saw was his mother touch her own cheek. The last thing he heard was her crying. Every part of him ached to go back and comfort her, but he knew if he didn't leave right now, he never would. He'd be trapped forever in a lie. That wasn't fair to anyone. His mother deserved better than a son who was required to lie to her on a daily basis.

TBC.

Reviews are a great way of getting me to update quickly! :p I have a busy life, you know! Okay, that's a lie. But still review?


	3. Chapter 3

Walking towards the car, everything felt a bit off-kilter. Not dramatically so, just enough that walking felt a bit weird. It was like being tipsy, without any of the upsides. It was strange how the world could look exactly the same when everything that mattered was different.

"Are you okay?"

Christian sat down beside Syed, feeling both numb and like he'd been punched in the gut at the same time. He looked at Syed, not dignifying the question with a response.

Syed rolled his eyes at his own question. "Well, that's a stupid question if I've ever heard one. How bad is it?"

"The, uh..." he trailed off, struggling with the words. "The prognosis is good, the doctors say. I think she said 'prognosis'. They said she was 'really vigilant' and they've caught it early. They're hoping they can remove the... tumour and she won't need chemo or anything. But they're not totally sure because it's in a weird place and it's a bit awkward to remove, so they might use the chemotherapy to shrink it first. But she's got to have some more scans and... they're going to see how it goes," he said, then added, scornfully, "'See how it goes'. Very medical, that is. They might as well use a crystal ball to medicate her and have Mystic Meg as her doctor."

"They don't want to make her go through chemotherapy unnecessarily," Syed said, quietly insistent, trying to sound confident. "You can't blame them for being careful."

"I don't care about any of that!" he exclaimed. "I just... all I want want is for them to tell her she's going to be okay. Definitely. Not 'highly likely' or whatever medical bullshit they say when they don't have a clue."

"But they _can't _say 'definitely'," Syed told him, aware that rationality was a lost cause for Christian right now. "Nothing's definite in this."

"It _should _be," he said. "I mean, they said themselves they've got it early and it hasn't spread, why wouldn't she be okay? Where's the uncertainty in that?"

"Cancer's just... unpredictable, isn't it?" Syed replied. "Look, they say she's _definitely _going to be okay and she's not... well, it's raising your hopes unnecessarily, isn't it? I bet they never say you're definitely going to be okay, even if it's just a cold, in case it turns out to be some horrible flu mutation. Right? They're going to not leave themselves open for lawsuits."

"I know. I just... I just want her to _be _okay. I can't lose her. She's... everything's _finally _fallen into place for her. She never had it easy, Jane. Mum was always having a go at her for something or other, for being too big and then for not eating enough, for not doing well in school and then for revising too much. She always tried too hard to make people like her, which is why she's such a pushover with Ian. She can't stand the thought of anyone being angry at her."

Syed laced his fingers through Christian's. Christian's returning grip was tight enough to be almost painful. "I can't imagine anyone not liking Jane. _Ian_, on the other hand..." he said, trying to lighten the mood. It worked; Christian's mouth curved upwards.

"I know. The nicest woman you could ever dream to meet and... _Ian_."

"You know what they say, opposites attract," he replied, stroking Christian's face with his free hand.

"I hope this makes him wake up and realise what he's got to lose. Though I'm fairly sure he'll come out of this temporarily redeemed and then revert to his dickhead ways as soon as she's up and able to serve breakfasts again."

"You've been gone a long time. He might have changed." Christian stared at him, one eyebrow cocked. "Well, it's possible, isn't it?"

"Is that around the same time that the four horsemen of the apocalypse marched through Walford?" he said. "Speaking of change, what is going on with your mother? She didn't commit physical violence against me, she _apologised _and _thanked me_, all in the same conversation. Either she's had a personality transplant or she's actually grown as a person. And that last one is too preposterous to believe. So, when did they develop the technology for personality transplants?"

"Don't worry," Syed said, patting his hand comfortingly, "I'm fairly sure she still hates you for corrupting her little boy."

He exhaled an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Well, that's a load off my mind. I was getting worried Walford had gone all Bodysnatchers while we were gone. Ian's acting all concerned, Lucy was actually behaving like a human being not some hormone-crazed super-brat and Zainab's being sort of relatively nice. Next, we'll be seeing Janine Butcher putting her disposable income in charity boxes and Jack Branning taking a chastity vow. What was it like, then?"

Syed broke eye contact with him, and stared straight ahead. "We talked... around the whole thing, if that's possible. It was like the elephant in the room, you know? We both knew it was there and we'd have to talk about it eventually, but we couldn't," he said. "I'm sure once she gets over the excitement of seeing me again, I'll be back to shaming her again."

"I doubt that. I mean, she's never going to be _proud_ or anything, but when she was talking to me, she seemed like she felt guilty. Maybe we could even hope for her to _turn a blind eye_?"

"Turn a blind eye!" he gasped in mock-horror. "I think that's hoping too much."

"Well, I was going to say organise a homecoming party for us! You know, with banners that said 'We Were Wrong' in block letters and balloons that said 'We Fully Accept You and Your Homosexuality', so I did tone it down."

"Clinton's makes some weird banners these days," Syed commented.

"They have things for 'coming out' parties now."

"There are 'coming out' parties?"

"For some people, coming out's something to be proud of," he said, in the same tone as a person who was talking to a child who'd just heard the word 'sex' on the playground.

"Right. See, I never got the choice."

Christian snorted. "Like you would've made it. Seven months, was it?"

"Still. It's pretty awful, outing someone." He noticed Christian shifted awkwardly at the statement. "Have you ever...?"

"No," he said, too quickly.

Syed looked at him suspiciously. "Just... no?"

"You want all the stories about how I _didn't _out anyone? Because I just told them to you."

"O...kay," he said. "So are we staying with Jane and Ian tonight?"

"If that's okay," Christian said, a question in his voice.

"Of course it's okay. Whatever you need," he said.

Christian smiled sadly, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen over Syed's eyes behind his ears. "Just for a couple of nights, though. I don't think I can tolerate three solid days of Ian after having a two-year break from him. In a way, all the downsides of us moving away are sort of balanced out by not having to deal with Ian."

"Christian, it's okay, you know," he said. "It's me. You don't have to make a joke out of everything."

"Yeah, but I do."

"I understand that. Avoidance was always the one thing I excelled at," he replied, smiling wryly.

"It's not avoidance, it's just..." Christian paused. "Everything's gone to shit. And I need to pretend that that doesn't bother me for a few minutes."

"Well, not everything," he said, grinning at him.

"Right, there's always you and me," he replied, smiling despite himself.

"There's always that."

"Weird how that makes everything worthwhile, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Christian's hand still gripped steel-tight onto Syed's, belying his light-hearted words This was one defining characteristic of their relationship that hadn't existed before they'd left. They were always talking, or shouting, or whispering. They were never silent. Many of their words had been empty, and they'd said more in a look than a thousand words. But, now, they don't feel the need to fill the silences. Christian had always looked at those boring old fart couples in restaurants sitting in silence and thought at how boring it would be to be one of those. In retrospect, he'd been jealous of the quiet companionship and how content they were in their boring little lives. While he'd been living it up and made out like he was having the time of his life, it wasn't like he'd been unhappy, exactly, but something had been missing. The thing was, what was missing had terrified him. He supposed that was why he'd been so attracted to Syed in the first place, he'd gotten all the passion and all the fire and he'd thought there was no chance of it fading into the domesticity he was so scared of.

Except things like relationships weren't as easy as that. And what had started out as a bit of game quickly turned into something deeper, more meaningful, more terrifying. Human nature being as it was, the more Syed held out, the more he'd said he wasn't what he wanted and never would be, the more he'd pushed-and-pulled, the more he'd wanted him. It was ironic that such an unstable _thing_- it hadn't been a relationship, it had been less than that, and more- had left him craving stability more than ever. With Syed, everything was backward. Going back to his endless string of fun, meaningless one-night-stands had become more daunting than being that old couple sitting in companionable silence. When he'd fallen in love with him, he came to the realisation that those old couples didn't sit in silence because they didn't have anything to say, but because they didn't have to say anything.

Looking at it objectively, they had become that boring old fart couple, in a way. They did the same things day in, day out and in the same order. They had a _routine_, something a Christian of years gone by would have shuddered at. If Zainab had taken him up on his offer of a timetable, they could have printed her one up. It was all rather sad, except for the part where it was amazing. Christian had never been happier and he thought Syed was really happy, as well. He was happy most of the time, anyway. Sometimes, he would spot a beautiful Asian girl pushing a pram and this look of longing would cross his face. Other times, he'd spot a domineering mother with an army of following children and a sad smile would linger for a second. These were moments that passed quickly, were transient. Syed was a bit of an expert at covering his feelings, something Christian had never mastered, and if he'd let his mask slip enough for Christian to notice, it made him wonder how much thought Syed was actually devoting to it. It was the other times, like the start of Ramadan where he miserably subscribed to the ritual that he saw little point in since he was damned either way, that bothered Christian the most. Christian would try to eat and drink as little as possible but after a couple of hours he was dying of thirst and had to give in. Those times, the times when he missed his family were the worst. He'd go silent and evasive and Christian couldn't say a thing that didn't piss him off. Christian mostly tried to leave him alone during these times, because he knew the sight of him made him feel even guiltier about his family. Christian had given up telling up he wasn't doing anything wrong. By his family's values, he was doing something wrong and that was all that mattered.

They had enough scandal lingering around them to draw whispers and the occasional stare, but it was just the bog-standard bored single mother gossip which died out after a couple of days. The surrounding neighbours weren't exactly up-to-date with Muslim teachings, but they knew enough to know that Syed living alone with a white man didn't fit with them. Still, Syed had been grateful that the nearest mosque was fifteen miles away and nobody had a sniff of anything scandalous about him. They thought it a little odd a man of his age didn't bring a father or a son with him, but they didn't press the point unduly. For that, he was grateful, he'd told Christian, because he didn't much fancy making up the story of how they'd all died in some horrific accident.

When asked for their _'story_', people got an extremely brief version that alluded to the complications but never plumbed the depths of it. The beginnings of their relationship weren't exactly beyond words, but it was complex enough to make anyone's eyes glaze over if Christian said anything more than the bare minimum. It was just enough to be friendly without really giving anything away. Mostly, though, their acquaintances were casual and nobody cared enough to delve any deeper. Christian realised then that had been deliberate. Though they hadn't gone out of their way to avoid social contact, they hadn't put any effort forth to build any other relationships, either. They'd settled into their new life, but they had never seen it as anything permanent. They'd moved to three different cities in two years for Syed's job, rather unnecessarily. They hadn't put down any roots or made any lasting relationship. They'd both known, even if neither had admitted it aloud, that all roads led back to Walford. It was just a matter of time. They would never have come back here willingly or even admitted to wanting to, but they knew eventually they were coming back. It was just how long they were going to stay.

_TBC. _

_Reviews are very much appreciated! _


	4. Chapter 4

_I'll say this now: I have absolutely no idea who the 'Bad Boy' vandalist is. Assume it happened in this world, but I'm going to be non-specific about it for now and maybe edit it in later to make the story more canon-compliant. _

_So. Writing parts of this chapter seriously, _seriously _bummed me out. And I wrote it! I had the idea for the scenes; no-one was forcing me to write it and it still depressed me. I went and wrote a whole load of fluff into other parts of the story to make up for it! _

_I thought tonight was a good night to post it, because tonight's episode depressed me so much. Okay, admittedly, a happy chapter would have made me feel better, but eh. _

_February 2012 _

"Honey, I'm home," Christian called. There was the patter of not-so-tiny feet as the Beale kids ambushed their uncle. Peter was as tall as Christian now, but looked even taller because he was so lanky. Lucy had grown into her figure, which she was apparently thrilled by if her attire was anything to go by. Bobby was a bit taller, and looked exactly like someone Christian had only seen in photos.

Lucy was staring at Syed like he was about to grow another head. Or regenerate into David Tennant, whichever was more interesting to teenage girls. "Lucy," Christian hissed.

She shrugged unapologetically "Sorry, he's fitter than I remember."

"I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?" Syed asked, amused.

"She could be saying you were really dog-ugly before you left and you're slightly less minging now," Christian told him.

"A backhanded compliment is still a compliment," Syed said with a shrug.

"It wasn't backhanded..."

"Luce, for one thing: you are not his type. Really. He is ten years older than you. He is taken. And, best of all, he's taken by _me_. So don't even let the thought of that thought cross your mind."

"All the fit ones are gay," she mumbled.

"I'm not gay," Peter said.

Lucy looked him up and down and then straight at his face. "Yeah, point proven."

"Right. Where do I put these?"

"Well, you're couching it tonight. Don't worry, it's really comfy."

"No, it's not. A bed of nails is better. You can share my bed," she offered eagerly.

Christian spun on his feel to face her, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. "Your dad would _love _that."

"Hello, he's _gay_. He's about as threatening to me as someone who's been chemically castra...."

"Right, enough. Take this upstairs for me, Luce."

"Ask the Green Giant over there to do it."

He thrust the bag towards her. "I'm asking _you_."

"Fine. Jesus." She took a bag from him and nearly fell backwards under the weight of it. "Unc, what've you got in here? Errr, it's not anything minging, is it?"

"Yes, it's all terribly disgusting and it'll warp your innocent little mind, so don't open it," he said. "Where is your dad, anyway?"

"Upstairs with Jane. She's tired," Lucy said. Her voice creaked on the last word and he knew all her bravado was an act. It was a shame they weren't genetically related, because he could blame a lot of the failings he and Lucy had in common on bad genes.

"We won't bother her then, eh? She's had a rough couple of days."

"Should I make her a cup of tea?" Bobby said. "She likes my cups of tea."

Christian smiled fondly, ruffling his hair. "I think she just wants to be left alone now. She's really tired. If she's better tomorrow, maybe you can then. What about that?"

"Okay. Make sure you don't use all the milk."

"I'm sure your dad's taken care of all of that."

"Dad's useless, Mum says so. And Dad says Mum's always right."

Christian smiled widely. "He can buy milk. And if he doesn't, I will, okay? I swear on my life, there'll be milk tomorrow, okay? And you can make your mum the best cup of tea of her life."

"Uncle Christian, who's he?" he staged-whispered, as if he'd only just noticed the man in the room.

"His name is Syed."

"Hello," he greeted, stretching his hand to be shook. He'd always liked that as a kid, it made him feel important, like an adult.

"Syed. That's a weird name," he said, looking straight at Syed's outstretched hand, but not taking it. Syed withdrew it.

"Suits him, then," Christian said. "Syed's parents are from Pakistan, so they have all different rules on names and things. If you were called Bobby in Pakistan, everyone would think you were weird there."

"But Bobby's a normal name."

"Yeah, well, so's Syed in Pakistan," he said. He stood up straight. "Are you going to help your sister take my bags up to your room?"

"Yeah! I'm way stronger than a stupid girl."

"Shut up, shortbread."

"I'm not! I'm nearly as big as you," he said, stretching up on his tiptoes and barely hitting Lucy's shoulders.

"Well, there you go," she said, gently throwing the full weight of Christian's bag at Bobby, causing him to stumble backwards, before she grabbed the bag back with feigned effortlessness and running upstairs. Bobby was fast on her heels bemoaning her cheating ways.

"That's a warm welcome. Seriously, that kid should give lessons on the cold shoulder. It'd reduce people to tears," Syed said.

"He doesn't like strangers much," Peter replied, shrugging. "I wouldn't take it personally."

"I'm not."

"You are, a bit," Christian teased.

"Kids never dislike people for no reason."

"Look, the woman who's practically been his mum since the day he was born is poorly and he's got some stranger in his house... where does the mental link go, when you've no medical knowledge whatsoever?"

"I'm just being oversensitive."

"Yes. Imagine how I feel, your whole family hates me."

"I don't know about that. They might not have poisoned Aasim against you yet."

"Please, they've spent his two years on the planet replacing all the villains in all the fairytales with me. They've probably got my face pasted over Cruella de Vil's ."

Syed had to laugh at that image. "They've probably replaced all her coats with vests," he said, snorting. "Hey, what does that make me in this analogy?"

"A helpless, naive puppy who is snatched away from his mother by the evil man. Obviously."

"Obviously."

Peter looked between them, shifting uncomfortably. "I think I hear Lucy and Bobby fighting. I'll go sort that out."

"How did that make him uncomfortable?"

He shrugged. "I think he's imagining you dressed as Cruella de Vil."

"Admittedly, that is quite disturbing."

"Yes."

"Right, I'm just going to go sort your quilt out and things, okay?"

"Am I allowed pillows?"

"Do you promise not to attempt to suffocate any Beales with them?"

He frowned. "That depends. Does Ian count?"

Christian gave a derisive snort. "Obviously not.."

He stuck two fingers in the air and rotated his shoulder. "Scout's honour."

"That's not Scout's honour. I'm fairly sure it's three fingers and I _know _your arm has to be at a ninety-degree angle."

"Were you in the Scouts?"

"No."

"So how would you know?"

"Were you?"

"No."

"That's a shame," he said. "I don't know anything as innocuous as suffocating Ian ended up at such a dirty place. Wait, yes I did. Because it always does. Remember that time we were talking about toilet paper...?"

"I don't remember the talking about toilet paper part."

"That was just weird," he said. "We never did figure out how we got from 'out of toilet paper' to 'waking up the next morning'. Anyway, quilts. And pillows. If you can control your homicidal rages."

"Promise."

***

When he was climbing the stairs, he heard sobbing coming from the main bedroom "Jane?" he called out. "Jane? Are you okay?"

Ian emerged from the bedroom with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose. It was clear his wife hadn't been the one crying. "Shush. She's finally managed to get to sleep."

Seeing Ian in this state made the fear he'd managed to mostly suppress in his chest rise. Ian wasn't widely known for his emotional outbursts. Seeing him acting like a human being was unnerving at the best of times. This wasn't the best of times. "How is she?"

"How do you expect her to be?" Ian hissed.

"Right. Sorry. I just meant... relatively speaking."

Ian closed the door behind him. It was the first time Christian had gotten a good look at him that day and he had to stop himself from gasping at the sight. Ian's cheeks were sunken and his wrinkles pronounced; he looked twenty years older. Ian had always been pasty, but his pallor suggested a person nearing death. In what was a rare moment, Christian had no doubt that Ian loved Jane because he loved _her_, not just the fact she was a doormat, a great mother and a dutiful wife.

"Well, you know Jane. She hates a fuss. She's trying to play it down but... God, Christian. She's petrified. So am I. What would I do without her? What would the kids do without her?"

"She's going to be fine, you hear? Jane Clarke doesn't give up without a fight," he said. Then, quieter, "They got it early, Ian."

"It can spread. It can... it can do whatever the hell it wants but we've only got so many options," he said, his hands shaking. Christian couldn't tell whether it was from fear or anger at the unfairness of it all. He looked Christian straight in the eyes for the first time in the conversation. His tone was so sad, it hurt Christian's heart to hear the pain threaded through it. "I don't want it to take my wife away from me."

"It's not going to," he insisted. "It's _not_."

Ian shook his head. "You don't know that. Even the doctors don't know and they do this every day of their lives."

"No, I don't. But you've got to have faith."

"Faith in _what_?"

"I don't know, faith in your wife, maybe? You have to believe that she's going to beat this. Otherwise, how the hell can she? If you're perfectly fit and healthy and you can't cope with her going through this, how will she be able to when she's the one actually going through it?"

"I don't know if I can do this," he confessed quietly.

Christian stared at him, disbelieving. "You don't have a choice."

" I-I... don't... I don't think I can go through this again. I can't lose another woman I love."

"The thing is, Ian," Christian said, "this isn't about you."

Ian looked at him a long moment and nodded. "You're right. It's about Jane and I... God, why is it not _me_? I deserve it! I actually deserve it. I've done so many bad things and Jane is so... she's such a good person. It's _not fair_. I'd go through this a million times over if it meant she was okay."

"Nobody _deserves _this."

"No. It's not fair. It's so fucking unfair... why her? Why does it have to be her?"

He started crying again and turned away, sobbing into his hands Christian had no idea what he was supposed to do. His instincts told him to hug him, but he didn't think Ian would appreciate it. Instead, he did the thing he thought Ian would appreciate the most and walked away silently. Ian had always liked his grief to be private.

***

This was the most painful night he'd ever spent anywhere and he'd had some dodgy sleeping arrangements over the years. He shifted and shuffled, but every movement just forced more spikes, also known as springs, into his back. Syed was genuinely considering crawling up into a ball on the floor when a noise behind him made him jump.

"You scared me. I thought it was Bobby with a butcher knife."

"Sorry, I can't sleep," Christian whispered. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

Syed sat up and pulled the quilt across to make room for Christian. "You didn't. Really. Someone with narcolepsy would struggle to sleep on this couch," he said, smiling. Christian was staring at the floor, hands clasped together. He couldn't see his face in the darkness, but he could picture his expression perfectly. His smile faded. "What's wrong, anyway? It's not like you to be wandering around in the middle of the night. You can sleep through an earthquake."

"Yeah, but I can't sleep through my sister's husband crying his heart out because he's so worried about her."

"Oh."

"'Oh' pretty much sums it up. I hate this so much. I hate feeling... _helpless_. There's nothing I can do for her... and I just feel useless."

Syed took his chin between his fingers and turned his face to look at him. "You don't need to be the strong one all the time. God knows, you've done it long enough for me."

"Actually, those were pretty much the conditions for me being here. Being the strong one for Jane."

"Jane's not here, is she? It's just you and me. You don't need to be strong for me."

"I'm so glad you came. I don't think I could do this without you."

"It's what I'm here for, isn't it?"

"I know how hard it's been for you. I really am grateful, you know."

"Grateful? I couldn't exactly say no. It's hardly gratitude-worthy."

"You could have said no, easily. I wouldn't have made you feel guilty."

Syed laughed soundlessly. "You wouldn't have had to. I would've been imagining you getting plastered and falling asleep in gutters and followed you up here after three minutes."

"You even know my coping mechanisms! You know, I haven't had a good session in _ages_. I'd give Roxy a ring and amend that but she's decided to go the teetotal route this pregnancy round."

"Shouldn't all pregnancies take the teetotal route?"

"Well, yeah, but she was kind of a mess last time. She's being really careful this time 'round."

"So, you're going to have to deal with your problems the sensible and mature way."

He could imagine Christian's horrified face and stifled a chuckle. "God, no."

"Yes. Yes. We're going to have to have a long talk about your feelings and confront them head on."

He shook his head emphatically. "Please, _anything else_."

"Nope, I'm afraid it's the only way."

"What about your coping mechanism? It goes somewhere along the lines of 'lalalalalalalalala, I'm not listening and I'm not looking so therefore the problem doesn't exist'."

Syed pulled Christian's fingers out his ears and rolled his eyes. "Well that worked out wonderfully for me, didn't it?"

"Could've been worse," Christian said, shrugging.

"Yeah, I could've been ran over by a car when I ran to the flat. I wasn't exactly conforming to 'look right, look left, look right again' that day."

"Thank God you didn't. I don't think I could live without you."

"That was pretty much my thought process that day, too."

"So, seeing me a grand total of eight times in two months was enough to sustain your fantasies, was it?"

"You were keeping count? What? Did you keep a little chart? It's far too easy to imagine. Get rid of your bedpost notches..."

"It was a... mental chart."

"That's just _wrong_," he said, offended. Then he grinned and whispered conspiratorially, "It was more like fourteen."

Christian gasped. "Mr. Masood, were you stalking me?"

"If...knowing you were going to be somewhere and turning up at that place to catch a look at you is stalking, then yes."

"I'm pretty sure it is. I've got a psycho for a boyfriend. Who knew?"

"Seriously, only doing it six times took massive amounts of self-control. Not seeing you everyday drove me mental. Literally. I'm sure I developed some sort of OCD from cleaning the Unit so many times."

"Yeah," Christian said. "I know the feeling."

"The worst thing was knowing I was doing it to myself. I knew I could just give in and... you'd be there. Which sounds awful, but it's the truth. It was so hard to fight it. But I thought I had to. Turns out I just wasted two months of my life."

"I think we needed that time apart. Seeing what we were like without each other... I don't think we'd have worked things out without it. Because the first couple of months, we had our problems, but we were both thinking 'nothing could be worse than those two months' and it made us work it out."

"Can you remember me telling you that I couldn't lose my family again?"

Christian cocked his eyebrow. "Remember it? It's burned onto my brain."

"I wasn't testing your memory. I meant, those couple of months made me realise I could live without them. At least, the way they were treating me then. But I couldn't without you."

***

_February 2010_

This was the single hardest thing he'd ever done. Considering what he'd done lately, that was saying something. All those other things, though they'd been horribly painful and shaming, on some level it was a relief. Amira dumping him and his family knowing, they were awful but a part of him had wanted it. Pretending to be something you weren't every second of every day was exhausting and Christian had been his only escape. He was going back to that, going back to pretending, and without the temporary reprieve that Christian gave him. The very thought of it depressed him so much he tried not to think about it too hard. His mother had given him a choice and he was making it. He was doing good by his family, there could be nothing wrong in that. This was better for everyone involved. He could never be happy with Christian knowing he'd hurt his mother that way. Christian deserved to be with someone who could give his whole heart without condition. Syed could love him until the day one of them died, but he could never do that. At the end of the day, his life would be better if he wasn't gay and there was no escaping that fact. How could you really be with someone, knowing that they hated what they were and would give anything to change it, and, by extension, hated who you were?

"Long time, no see," Christian remarked.

"Are you really surprised?"

"No."

"Mum would have me chained to a radiator if it wasn't against the law. Actually, I'm fairly sure she's still considering it. If she knew I was here now..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Finding out about the last time... I don't know how she kept her hands off me, to be honest. Probably too tired from the baby."

"_Why _are you here now? I haven't seen you in weeks, so it's obviously not a booty call, so, what do I owe the honour?"

The words wouldn't come out. It was like they were stuck in his throat. He stumbled and stuttered several times before he could even form words, never mind complete sentences. Every thing in him was screaming at him not to do this."The thing is... the thing is... Christian, you know... you know how I feel about you."

"Do I?"

Syed turned his head to the side, so his words were directed at the wall. "Don't do this."

"Don't you do _this_. You think I didn't know the moment you walked in the door what you came to tell me? You looked like you were walking to the gallows."

"I have to do it," he said. "I don't have a choice."

"You do have a choice. Your mother _gave _you a choice. Even if she hadn't, there's always another way. There's always a choice, Syed."

"Yeah, but I don't have one, not really. It's not a proper choice. Keeping my family is... I can't live without my family."

"You managed for four years."

"That's what I mean. Those four years were awful. I can't go through that again. Not even for you."

"But you wouldn't be on your own, you'd have me."

He stared at Christian for a long moment, with no response to give for several moments. "I'd have them."

Christian looked up at him. "But what are you going to do?" he asked.

Syed frowned. He thought it was fairly obviously what he was going to do, even if he hadn't said the exact words yet. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... right, you walk out of here. End it. Okay. We're over." Syed flinched at the words, then regretted showing such weakness. "But what comes next? What happens next year? Or the year after? Are you just going to go back to pretending, to keep Mummy happy? Get married to someone, live your whole life as a lie? Or are you going back to the one-night-stands? Or both?" he said. "Think about this. _Really _think about what you're doing. This isn't just about us, this is about your entire life, Syed."

"I have. I've made the right decision." His voice was trembling, he could hear it. He just didn't know how to stop it.

"So, what? What are you going to do?" he repeated.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I really don't. But I'll do anything I have to do to keep them. I am not losing them. Not again."

"Maybe if you give them time..." Christian's voice was hopeful, but Syed could hear the lack of belief in his own words.

He snorted. "Have you met my mother? She never lets anything go, not ever," he said. "And my father's not much better. Even Tam..."

"Syed, don't do this."

"I have to," he said.

"I just.. I don't want you to be miserable."

"I won't be," he said, trying to inject some optimism into his voice. He thought it was safe to say that he failed.

"I hate the thought of it so much. The thought of being away from you kills me but the thought of you being unhappy... I can't bear it. I just... _can't_."

"You don't have to," Syed said. "After this, you won't see me again. Not properly, anyway."

"You think that makes it any better?" Christian burst out. It was the first time he'd gotten angry in the conversation. Syed had expected- _hoped_- for it a lot earlier than he'd gotten it. Instead, he'd gotten sympathy and pity, which were the last things he deserved or needed. He wanted Christian to be furious, to tell him he was making the biggest mistake of his life, to tell him he was a liar and a coward and a hypocrite, to give him exactly what he deserved. It made Syed happy to see a spark of real emotion coming from him, rather than the lifeless tone he'd taken since Syed had told him what he'd decided. "_Out of sight, out of mind_. That's your philosophy, isn't it? How's that worked out for you?"

"No, I just mean... I _could _be happy. You don't know."

Christian smiled bitterly and shook his head. "But I know. Because nobody who's lying to themselves can ever really be happy. Especially someone who knows how the truth feels."

"You know, it's not like I asked for this. _Any _of this."

"You asked for this from the moment you kissed me."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"What for?"

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Let's skip it, shall we? You'll be on a while." Christian drawled.

"I meant for now. You have no idea how sorry I am. This isn't how I wanted this to end."

"How else was it going to, though? Really? You weren't expecting us to skip out into the sunset hand-in-hand."

"I... hoped," he murmured. "I really... I don't know. I just... there was some part of me... I thought... I never thought this was going to end. Not properly."

"Yeah," Christian whispered. He looked like he was about to start crying.

Syed stepped forward, reaching out to him, intending to comfort him. Christian stepped back, folding his arms over his chest. His body language was excluding him. Syed knew he had zero right to feel rejected. But, still, it _stung_. The last thing he'd expected was for them to hold each other as they cried. They'd never been that sort of couple. They'd never really been a couple at all, if he was being honest. Maybe if they had been, they _would _have been that kind. Christian would have been, anyway. Labels were something Syed avoided applying to his relationship- even the word 'relationship' had never been something he'd given to them- because it made it seem less valid, less real that way. He could cope with them sleeping together and waking up with their limbs entangled and watching each other sleep and sharing inside jokes and kissing, as long as they weren't a _couple_. Christian was never anything like that to him- not his boyfriend or his partner or his lover, he'd just been _Christian_ and that had been more than enough. The thought of never touching him again was awful. His fingers curled back and he let his hand drop to his side. The thought that he would never find out what sort of couple they could have made his hands shake so badly he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans to remove them from sight.

"Christian..."

"Don't." He lifted up a hand to stop him. "Really... just _don't_. If you're leaving, just leave. Don't drag it out."

"Okay," he whispered, withdrawing his hand. "You know how much I lo... I'm going to miss you."

"Just go," he hissed.

"Okay. Okay. I... Christian..."

"Syed, _please_." At the last word, Christian looked at him for just a second. Syed had seen plenty of devastated faces by his own hand over the past couple of weeks, but none of them had made him feel so _hopeless_. Christian was always proud of how he didn't look like he was nearing forty. At that second, he looked much older than his age. The life had gone out of his face as eventlessly as someone switching off a light.

The word was barely audible but it hit him harder than anything had today. In a day where his mother had called him a disgrace and his father refused to look at him, that was quite something. Christian couldn't bear to look at him. His mere presence was an affliction to him now. Knowing that it would hurt Christian to lay eyes on him made Syed feel like he couldn't get enough air. He took one look over his shoulder at Christian's face before he walked out of the door, and found to his horror it was an expression he recognised. _Don't make me hate you_, Christian had said the last time Syed had seen that look on his face. No matter what he'd done, how badly he'd treated him, no matter how he spoke to him, Christian could never bring himself to hate him. Syed wondered if he'd actually managed to achieve that this time.

***

He didn't cry. He didn't stay in his room all day listening to Snow Patrol. He just got on with it. 'It' being the imitation of his life. If a stranger had looked at his life before and after, there wasn't really that much difference. On the surface, he woke up, he went to work, he argued with his family, he watched telly and went to bed. Each day just blended into the next, the passing of time indifferent to him just as he was indifferent to it. He laughed when he was supposed to, expressed displeasure at whatever his mother was complaining about and did everything everybody asked of him. But had anyone asked him to recall what they'd been saying not ten seconds before, he wouldn't have been able to. The numbness that had descended over him allowed him to get on with his life, but he was mostly just waiting for the other shoe to drop. He kept waiting for the pain to come flooding at him, but it didn't. Everywhere he looked, a memory would leap out at him. The small moments he'd forgotten about would be evoked with a particular smell or touch. Work was the worst, where echoed memories bounced off every wall. It didn't hurt, though, it just made the numbness spread.

Three weeks passed without him registering that they had. Three weeks was apparently his grace period, because then his mother commanded that he needed to stop 'moping about'. To be honest, he hadn't been surprised that she'd caught him out; his pretence at being not miserable had been half-hearted at best. He nodded but had no intention of stopping the moping. He didn't even know _how _to stop, except to continue pretending to get on with his life. To be honest, he hadn't even really thought he _was _wallowing in it, but just because the pain wasn't presenting itself didn't mean it wasn't there. Whatever it was she wanted from him, it was impossible. It wasn't like he could just _get over it_ like a headache or a cold. If he was able to do that, he would have done it three weeks ago. Actually, he would have done it months ago.

The same day his mother told him to, in no uncertain terms, get over himself, she sent him out on various odd jobs to take his mind off it. His mother had strange ideas of taking a person's mind off heartbreak. God only knew how she thought collecting spices from a supplier was meant to tax his brain enough to stop him thinking how he'd lost his fiancée, caused his family to hate him and lost... well, _whatever_ the hell Christian had been to him. That was the first time he saw Christian since they'd ended it, and he looked like _hell_. Syed remembered how after he'd been attacked by that awful man, he'd looked like a shadow of his former self, _broken_. He looked exactly the same now. Worse, even. At least that attack had been by a stranger, a person intended to be a temporary solution to a problem. This one had been by someone he'd cared deeply about. Someone he'd loved. That was when the pain he'd been repressing for so long decided to put in an appearance- in the middle of the street. No wonder he'd repressed it, it fucking _hurt_. He remembered reading somewhere that when a pain was bad enough, your mind would carry you away until you could manage with it. This was his bump back to earth. It felt like he'd been punched in the chest repeatedly and he really wanted to vomit. He tried to catch his breath, but he couldn't manage. The world was swimming before his eyes and he realised then that tears were blurring his vision. He was not going to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of Albert Square. He was not. The box fell out of his hands; he didn't even notice. Desperate that nobody see him, especially not Christian, he ran home.

He just got into the house before sliding to the ground, sobbing. He put his hands over his face and just _cried_. He cried for Amira's broken heart, for his mother's mortification, for his father's disappointment, for Christian, for the wreck his life had become. It hurt worse than he thought anything could, but there was an element of relief there. He knew he needed this. The pain had to get worse before it could get better. Just when he thought it was about to stop, another wave would hit him and a fresh batch of sorrow would overcome him. When his mother's arms came around him, he barely felt them. When she whispered empty promises and commiserations in his ear, he barely heard them. All he remembered afterwards was her telling him, "Get it all out, son. Get it all out". But he couldn't do that, because it was too much. This would always hurt. It would get so that it hurt less, he knew, but it would never stop hurting. The hole that he'd punched through his own life was too big. Sure, he could patch over it, but any force exerted on the patching would open up the hole again. He hadn't just lost _something_, he'd lost everything. At least he appreciated the irony- by trying to have it all, he'd ended up with nothing. Turned out, Christian had been right months ago, when he'd said he had to make a choice. Only, he hadn't realised when he finally made his decision, it would be too late and he'd be left with nothing.

***


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the great response to the last chapter! It's really appreciated. Now, this was a chapter I enjoyed writing (as you can tell from its massive length). God, do I love the Masoods. _

_February 2012_

"Do you mind not kicking your legs around like a five-year-old having a tantrum?" Christian asked.

"It's not my fault. Lucy was right," Syed grouched.

"I can sleep on the couch if you want," Christian offered.

"And sleep with the kid who thinks I'm the one who made his mum poorly? No thanks."

"You can always go and stay with your family..." Christian pointed out.

Syed shifted again, uncomfortably. "I'd rather be murdered in my sleep by an eight-year-old."

"Stop complaining, then. Lie on your bed of nails and shut up."

"If I was Ian and my punishment was to sleep on the couch, I would never do anything wrong ever."

Christian sighed at the mention of Ian's name. "He's in pretty bad shape, you know. The last time I saw him like that..."

"Sympathising with Ian. Things must be bad."

"Yeah. I think we should stay a bit longer than I said. I mean... _I _will, anyway. You can go back home, if you want."

"I've got plenty of time owed. Never taking a holiday does that for you."

"Do you think you can last _here _that long?"

"I was only joking, before. I can deal with Ian," Syed said. "He won't be the same, anyway, you said."

"I didn't mean the house, I meant... in Walford. With _them_ across the road."

He shrugged. "Hey, I've always wondered how hermits lived."

"They get their forbidden lovers to bring them food, for one thing," Christian said.

"Really."

"Oh, and I'd say you need facial hair, but you're already there," he said, then lowered his voice mock-seriously, "You have a dressing gown, don't you?"

"No."

"I'll have to get one for you. The life of a hermit is never complete without a dressing gown."

"I don't think the life of a hermit is complete, ever."

"You know, those couple of weeks were some of the worst weeks of my life. But when you were there... they were the best. I mean, everything went downhill not long afterwards but... those weeks."

"I know," Syed said.

"Maybe becoming a hermit'll help the next week or so. Because it's going to be _hell_."

Syed closed his eyes. "I can see that, yeah."

He frowned. "Your mum was okay with you, wasn't she?"

"Yeah. Brilliant, actually. But we didn't talk about you much... though, for some reason, she got the impression you didn't like her."

"I can't imagine why _that _is," Christian drawled.

"It was weird, because the whole conversation was about you and me, basically, but... we barely actually talked about it at all."

"Considering we used to have entire conversations about our relationship while not actually talking about it, I find that fairly easy to believe," Christian said.

"Yeah, you found it _hilarious _to punish me for whatever 'crime' I'd committed that week by talking about it in front of my mother and/or fiancée."

Christian laughed to himself. "I was an _arse_. Jesus."

"If we're playing 'Who Was The Biggest Arse of '09', I'm such a contender to win, the contest's not even worth hosting," he said.

"Admit it, you could've killed me in my sleep when I did that," Christian said.

"No, I couldn't have hurt you like that," Syed said, gravely. "Because then I wouldn't have enjoyed it and it would've been pointless."

"I'm surprised we didn't _actually _kill each other sometimes."

"We would've missed each other too much. Plus, cleaning the blood out of the carpets..."

"It would be a pain in the arse," Christian said. "Not worth the effort of covering it up."

Syed shifted on the couch again. "Okay, you know how we're staying here indefinitely? Could we buy Jane a 'get well soon' couch, or something? Or at least buy her a 'get well soon' mattress so I can sleep on the floor?"

"We'll sort something out," Christian said. "You never know, your family might welcome you back with open arms."

He snorted. "There's more chance of a bed falling out of the sky."

"Right. I should go to bed. I've said to Jane I'd get Bobby ready for school in the morning, her and Ian have things to sort out. And I don't think crippling myself will be beneficial to that."

"Ah, school nights."

"Like you ever stay up past eleven on a work night."

"I don't think staying up until 2AM watching _Ghost Whisperer _marathons makes you any more hardcore than me."

"It was _The Sopranos_," Christian replied, scandalised.

"Unless Jennifer Love Hewitt's in _The Sopranos_, I don't think so."

He covered his hands with his face and declared, melodramatically, "My biggest shame!"

"I thought we had no secrets from each other."

"I'm pretty sure there was fine print in that agreement that said: Except the embarrassing stuff."

"No, you misread," Syed said. "It said _especially _the embarrassing stuff."

"So you can take the piss."

"Exactly."

"But that works both ways."

"I tell you everything."

"I'm sure."

"Good night."

"'Night."

xxx

When he went back into the room, Bobby was sitting awake, on his bed, waiting for him.

"Uncle Christian?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that man?" Bobby asked.

Christian rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out what he meant. "Syed?"

"Yeah, him. Do you like him?"

"He's my best friend."

"But he made you cry."

"What?"

"When I was little, Mum and Dad had gone out and you were looking after us and I was supposed to be in bed but I wanted a drink and I came down and that man came over and you were standing at the door, and he was shouting at you. Then he went away and I heard you crying. I wanted to come and see you and see if you were okay, but when I'm crying I don't want anyone to see so I went back upstairs."

"Oh. You... I didn't realise you'd seen that. I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to hear that."

"But it's not your fault," he said with a certainty only children could muster.

"That... that was a really long time ago. Me and Syed were... well, we were really good friends but his family didn't want us to be friends. He felt really badly about being friends with me because his family said it was bad, except he wanted to be friends really."

Bobby frowned. "I don't understand."

"Well, it's a bit complicated. I didn't understand it, either."

"No, I understand everything. I just don't know why anyone wouldn't want to be friends with you."

Christian smiled. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But... you're friends, now? Right?"

"_Best _friends."

"Does he make you cry?"

"Never. Being friends with him makes me really happy."

"Oh, okay. That's good. I..."

"Is that why you didn't like him?"

"Yeah, because he made you cry."

"Well, he doesn't make me cry anymore. He was a bit upset that you didn't like him, y'know."

"I like him now. Because he makes you happy," he said. "But if he makes you cry again, I'll get him for you."

He laughed. "I don't think he'll be making me cry anytime soon, Bobby."

"Okay. He seems nice now. Did you make him nice?"

"He's always been nice," Christian told him. "It was all... very complicated."

"Complicated is just an adult's way of saying they don't want to talk about things. Mum says it all the time."

"Yeah, well, I don't want to talk about it, then. 'Night."

"I've missed you," Bobby said.

"I only saw you a month ago."

"I like having you here _all _the time, though."

"Well, I'm going to be here all the time for a while."

"For a while?"

"Well, I've got to go back home. But I'll be visiting loads more than I have been, promise."

"I want you to stay forever."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?"

"It's..."

"Complicated."

"I wish I could stay but... it's too hard. A lot of people around here don't like me."

"Don't be stupid. Nobody could _not _like you."

"People manage, believe me," he said. "But you can come up to Leeds whenever you want, okay? You just ring me up and I'll come up to London to get you, right?"

"Okay."

"Right, you need to get to sleep. Keeping me awake with all this talk is very clever, but you've got school in the morning."

"'Night."

"'Night."

xxx

Syed tried several times before he could actually manage to knock on the door of his former residence. His father answered the door and the friendly smile soon disappear. The look that replaced it was a mix of believing that Syed had crawled up from a sewer and him being some kind of new-fangled technology that he couldn't understand. "You... weren't expecting me," he said.

"Were you _expecting me _to be expecting you?" He stepped forward, looked behind him and closed the door. "What is it you want? Money? Because quite frankly we're struggling..."

"What? No! I don't... I'm fine. Financially, I mean."

"Why are you here?"

Syed shot him a confused look. "Well, you know how Mum asked me to come..."

"Whatever it is you should just g... what did you say?"

"_Mum asked me to come_. I said I shouldn't, but... I can't believe her. Well, actually, I can, but still," he said. "I'll go. It'd be easier that way."

His father folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah, probably."

The door opened, startling them both. "Syed, I said _twelve_," his mother reprimanded, avoiding the heat of Masood's gaze by staring intently at her son.

"You were always having a go at me for being late. I can't win!" he said. "What, was Dad planning to go out at 11:59 or something?"

She glared at him. "There's being timely and there's not giving us time to _prepare_."

"And by 'time to prepare' you mean, what? Telling your husband five minutes before I get here, so he doesn't have the chance to run away. Brilliant, that is, Mum," he said. "I was just going, anyway."

"No chance. I've made a meal for four and a meal for four we're going to have."

"I really don't think..." Syed started, looking sideways at his dad.

"You're staying. Both of you."

He sighed, relenting. He'd known this wasn't going to easy. But he'd at least been expecting his father to feel the same way. "Mum..."

"Syed. I'm not wasting food."

"The horror."

"Zainab. Can we have a word?"

She cupped her ear. "I'm sorry, is that the oven timer I hear?"

He grabbed her arm. "Living room. Now."

Eavesdropping was bad. But it wasn't like he was doing it on purpose. He was still standing at the door, for an easy exit. They were just talking loudly and he was _hearing_. He wasn't even actively listening, just hearing. Having functioning ears was hardly his fault. Anyway, it wasn't like he wanted to listen to any of this.

"... just saunters back into our lives and you welcome him back your precious little boy with open arms."

"I don't know if you've forgotten, but Jane has _cancer_," Zainab reminded him.

"Don't be so stupid. Of course I haven't forgotten."

"_Of course _not. Not about dear, dear Jane."

"If you're accusing me of something..."

"I'm not. Look, I'd hardly describe it as 'sauntering back into our lives'. He didn't even want me to _see _him, Masood. He hasn't come home to cause trouble. He's here to support Chr... the Beales."

"Oh, yes, _the Beales_!" he exclaimed. "Of whom he was such always such a fan."

"I can't cut him out any longer, Masood. I can't. He's my _son _and he'll always _be _my son no matter how much wrong he does."

"You didn't cut him out. He cut himself out, if I remember correctly. He packed his own bags. If he's in some sort of trouble, he's there by his own hand. We can't keep bailing him out."

"Why do you always assume he wants something from us?" she asked.

"Perhaps because he _always _wants something from us."

"He is just here for... he's not here to _barter_, Masood."

"There has to be a point, Zainab, where he does something so bad you can't forgive him it. Where do you draw the line? Murder?"

She barked out an incredulous laugh. "Please tell me you're not comparing this to _murder_."

"Well, he's already nearly bankrupted us and cheated on his fiancée. With a _man,_ no less. He then chose that man over us and ran off to shack up with him. I'd say he hasn't just crossed that line, he's ran past it, laughing his head off the whole merry way."

"I'm sure he finds this all _very _amusing, Masood. Hilarious, in fact. I bet he's stood out there, wetting himself laughing," she said. "I had to beg him to come here, today."

"Well, that was noble of you, wasn't it?" he hissed. "Why didn't you tell me? Syed was obviously expecting me to have calmed down, so you must have lied to him, too."

"I had every intention of telling you..." his mother insisted.

"When I realised there were four plates? Or at the knock at the door? 'Oops, forgot to mention the son we haven't seen in two years is calling by'?"

"I didn't know how to tell you. I couldn't sleep last night, wrestling with it."

"So you decided to throw me in at the deep end, because you're bad with words. You had every opportunity to tell me that you'd seen him and invited him over for a nice lunch and a chat. Does Tamwar know?" He didn't wait for a response, and just rolled his eyes. "What am I saying? Of course he does. Just me left in the dark as usual, then."

"I knew you were going to be angry..."

"That's always a brilliant idea for an awkward lunch! Introduce anger a half-hour before! Instead of telling me _last _night, when I could have adjusted to the idea and 'calmed down a bit', you decide to let Syed speak for himself! Brilliantly thought-out as ever, Zee."

"I'm sorry, Mas. I really am. But he's going back in a couple of days, and I just want to spend as much time as I can with him. Is that such a crime? A mother wanting to see her son?"

"No, the 'crime' was lying to both of us and just expecting us to get on like a house on fire."

"Don't be stupid, I wasn't..."

He heard a beeping sound coming from the kitchen. It was a distraction from his father slagging him off, at any rate. They couldn't hear it over their ridiculously loud slanging match. He could tell from all the pots and pans that his request for 'no fuss' had been roundly ignored. It wasn't like any of them were going to be enjoying the food much, anyway. He imagined it had been a way for his mum to channel her nervous energy. There was enough smoke coming out of the oven which suggested she hadn't actually been using a diversion technique when she said she'd heard the oven going off. He got the baking tray out of the oven and lifted the tin foil. It was a bit burned around the edges but there was no major damage. He didn't recognise whatever it was on sight, but it looked elaborate. What else had he been expecting?"

His father came running into the kitchen, his mother following closely. "What are you doing?" Masood asked, eyes narrowed.

He looked at his father and then at the food in his hand. "Uh... rescuing lunch?"

Masood had the good grace to look mollified. "Oh. Right."

"See, Masood, the boy can't even do a good thing without you being suspicious of him." She rushed to take the food out of Syed's hands and grumbled about Masood ruining it, despite the fact it was barely singed.

"Because he's never given cause for that."

Syed ran his hands through his hair a few times. "If I'm making things uncomfortable, I'll go..."

"Go where?"

"To the Beales'. That's where we're staying."

"You're here, for Jane, then?" Masood asked.

"Yes."

"And when are you going back home?" he asked, then, under his breath, "Wherever that is."

Syed rolled his eyes. "It's not under a bridge if that's what you're implying."

"It wasn't," Masood replied, with a shrug. "Though it's telling that that's where your mind went."

"I'm not living under a bridge!" he said. "Or in a doorway."

"He's telling the truth, Mas. You should _see _his car. I've got no idea about cars, but it looks good."

"You can rent a car."

"Yeah, but I _didn't_. The last thing I was worried about when Christian asked me to come up here was my _credit rating_."

"That's funny, your credit rating was all you cared about before. Well, to be more concise, _money_. Well, money or power, I never did fathom out which it was with you."

"I don't care about it! I mean, I do _care_. But only to the extent that there's food on the table and a comfortable living standard. After losing your family- twice- you start to get a perspective on things."

"Oh, if you expect a pity party, set the table for one. You never _lost _us. You gave us up, by _choice_. You knew when you stole the money, or you knew when you were cheating on your fiancée what you were doing was _wrong_ and you were running the risk of losing us, but you _did it anyway_. Because that was always you, you were always selfish and reckless, which is never a good combination."

"Did I ever say I did right, either time? No. But don't even try to pretend that this is all about the cheating."

"Right, just because something is forbidden by your religion means you can just ignore it if you feel it gets in the way. True faith is about sacrifice, Syed. Do you really think your mother would have had Kam..." he trailed off, but the sentence was complete in everyone's minds.

Zainab stared at Masood for a few moments in silence. "I'm going to set the table," his mother blurted and rushed from the room.

Masood watched her go, then said, quieter, "We have all given up things to be good Muslims. After everything we've gone through in the past few years, don't you think I would have _loved _to get steaming drunk? But I didn't, because it's wrong."

"Because drinking and this are completely on the same level."

"It's the same principle. We would like to do plenty of things but we don't. It doesn't matter if it's something small or something huge, it's the same _thing_, Syed. You don't get to pick and choose when it suits you."

"Does not drinking make you miserable? I'm not talking a bit down in the dumps, but _miserable_? Does it make you lie to everyone around you, including yourself? Pretend to be something you're not? Is it something you've tried _everything _to change, but couldn't?" There was a long moment where neither of them said anything. "Didn't think so."

"It doesn't matter. Allah challenges us to test our faith..."

"It wasn't a challenge. A challenge can be overcome, no matter how hard it is. But fighting who I _was_...who I _am_... it's impossible. I could pray and pretend and resist temptation until the cows came home, but it wouldn't change anything. Believe me, I _know_."

Masood regarded him and was struck by how sincere he was looked. He seemed genuinely repentant and had nothing to gain- if Zainab was to be believed, which was unlikely it today's antics were anything to go by- by faking it. But, then, he'd seemed repentant and like he had nothing to gain last time as well. Then, he'd still been suspicious. Syed was certainly a talented little actor, but no actor was talented enough to diguise the fact they were _acting_. It didn't seem that way this time. He _wanted _to believe that their son had come here with nothing but good intentions, but he couldn't quite manage it. Syed had abused their trust too many times to be regarded with anything but suspicion when he turned up unannounced.

"Boys! Lunch!"

Both flinched, too caught up in their thoughts to be paying attention to their surroundings. Masood turned to look at his son. "This is going to be interesting."

"'Interesting'," Syed echoed.

When Syed walked into the room, Tamwar was determinedly looking at the floor. He'd never been the most socially brilliant person ever and Syed didn't have a clue how he coped with _genuinely _awkward situations, because his brother could make the most friendly occasion awkward without even trying. He'd filled out a bit, his hair was longer and his glasses were different but he hadn't changed much at all. When he looked up, Syed supposed it was supposed to be a glare but he looked more like an angry puppy. He restrained himself from laughing, but it was a struggle.

"What? No hug?" he said, stretching out his arms.

Tamwar stared up at him, eyebrows raised. "That would involve standing up. I'm not sure it's worth the effort."

Syed smiled as he took his seat. "Now, _there's _some of that emotion I've heard is called love. Isn't it sweet?"

"You know, I'm not just going to get amnesia and magically forgive you. Like some people."

"Last time I checked, I didn't do anything wrong to _you_."

"Boys, please. This is Syed's first time having a meal with us in two years. I don't want it ruined with fighting, okay?"

"Wouldn't that be awful. Ruining a meal would be the worst thing anyone had done in this family! Ever! I mean, it's not like..."

"Tamwar," his mother said, her tone the sharp 'no more' Syed recognised too well.

Forks scraped against plates loudly for a few seconds, intensifying the silence. "So, what are you doing with yourself?" Masood asked.

"Is that a question out of genuine interest, or is this the start of an interrogation?" Syed asked, staring intently at his plate.

"Syed, your father is attempting to make conversation with you, I wouldn't dismiss it so easily, huh?"

"What do you mean 'what am I doing with myself'?"

"Where are you working, for a start?"

"It is an interrogation, then. I can get my bank statements out if you'd like..."

"Syed," his mother barked. "Enough."

"Fine. I'm working for a property developer," he said. "It's not my own business or anything, but it's going really well now the recession's mostly over. The pay's good. It's a bit dull, but it's okay," he said. Nobody said anything and he wasn't one for leaving silences unfilled. "Uh, I got a promotion not long ago. Less work for more money, couldn't say no."

"That's good," Zainab said, encouragingly.

"Which firm?" Masood asked.

Syed shrugged. "You probably won't have heard of it."

"Well, I'd like to hear it anyway."

"PLC Estates. I have my P45 prepared, if you'd like to have a look."

"So, you're an _estate agent_," Tamwar commented. "That's _shocking_. Truly. How could _you _ever lie to anyone?"

"I'm not an estate agent, per se... " he said, clearing his throat, uncomfortable. "It's mostly the paperwork side of things."

"Where are you living?" Masood asked.

"I'd rather not say. It's just I promised..."

"Of course," his father said.

"But I have a roof over my head. Last time I checked, there was food in the fridge. And, yes, there's even running water."

"Are you up-to-date on your rent?"

"Mas, what sort of question is that?"

"It's okay, Mum. To be honest, I don't know. I should hope so. I don't sort that stuff out. But the electric, gas and heating were still working when I came out yesterday morning, so I'm guessing the rent's been paid, as well."

"The food is good, huh?" Zainab said.

"Isn't it rude to compliment yourself?" Tamwar asked.

"No-one else is rushing up to do it, so no," she replied.

"Are we all supposed say 'mmm' and rub our stomachs now?" Syed asked.

"That was the general idea, yes."

"The food is great, Mum." "Delicious." "Best meal ever."

"Now, shush, you're making me blush."

There was little conversation after that, and only the occasional clattering of cutlery broke the silence.

Syed put down his fork. "That really was good, Mum. Best meal I've had in ages."

She examined his plate critically. "You've hardly touched it."

"What are you talking about? It's hardly my fault the dinner plates are like UFOs."

"I think we've solved the mystery of how you turned into a skeleton."

He glanced down at himself. "I'd hardly say _that_..."

"You haven't gone and got that... what's that disease, where you're under the misapprehension you're overweight?"

"Anorexia?" Syed replied, incredulously.

"Anorexia _nervosa_. 'Anorexia' is only a symptom."

"Yeah, thanks, Wikipedia. Mum, I'm not anorexic! I just haven't had much of an appetite lately."

"Well, I'm sorting that out. There's still another course and desert to go."

"Mum, seriously, me, spewing up, everywhere... not a good idea."

"That sounds like bulimia to me," Tamwar said.

Syed gave him a sardonic smile. "Funny."

"I thought so."

"So, Tambo, how's Oxford treating you?" he asked, pushing food around on his food, trying to give the impression of eating it, though the thought of eating anymore made him ill. After everything he'd done to his mum, he could at least pretend to enjoy the first meal they'd had together in nearly two years."

"Well."

"Well as in 'good' or is that the start of a sentence, like 'well, it's pretty awful, actually'."

"Well as in 'good', except not as grammatically inaccurate."

"What're you studying again?"

"Medicine."

"Like he would be studying anything else," Zainab replied, beaming.

"Wait, how did you know about Oxford?" Masood asked.

There was a long pause. "...I knew he was reapplying and I had faith in him?" His lying skills had taken a blow since he moved away from Walford, to say the least. He hadn't had at a lot of practice at honing them.

"I can tell from Tamwar's face that you're lying," he said, slamming down his glass. "Has everyone but me been in contact with him? Has he secretly been living here the past few months and no-one bothered to tell me?"

Zainab rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Mas."

"Yeah, Dad, it was only a couple of calls. Which _he _intiated," he said, saying _'he_' like he was talking about some kind of vermin.

"It was just to make sure no-one had died and no-one was seriously ill."

"When was the last one?" Masood asked.

The brothers exchanged a look, co-conspirators for a moment. "A couple of months ago," Tamwar said.

"And you never bothered to tell me?"

"I didn't tell anyone," Tamwar replied.

"Not even your mother? Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"I didn't! I thought it would upset her. Both of you," Tamwar said. "I told him to stay away."

"Several times," Syed added.

"I thought you said there were only two calls."

"Several times in the same conversation. It was like 'Hello, Syed. Stay away'. 'I'm fine. You, stay away. 'Bye, remember, now, don't come here. Ever.'"

"He's... not exaggerating," Tamwar said. "They only lasted about a minute, Dad. I swear. It's not like I was arranging meetings with him."

"Or taking money to give to him," Masood reminded him.

"I didn't _do _anything," Tamwar replied. "I didn't! Syed rang to make sure everyone was okay. Everyone was. And that was it."

"Then what was there to hide? I thought I could trust _you_, Tamwar."

"I told you, I thought it would upset you. _Clearly_, I was wrong."

"I'm just upset to learn I've got a whole _family _of liars. Once Kamil understands what lies are, he'll be telling them as well. It's a Masood family trait, apparently."

"I haven't been anything less than honest since I walked through that front door," Syed murmured.

"This must be the longest stretch you've gone without lying. Is your right eye starting to twitch from the effort?"

His phone vibrated in his pocket, as if on cue.

"Who's that?" Masood asked.

"Who do you _think_?" he snapped.

"Syed, you really shouldn't answer your phone at the table," Zainab warned.

He opened it defiantly and raised it up to eye-level, "How's it going?' he read aloud. 'Now that's a question. Should I reply A) Excellent B) Wonderful C) Brilliant or D) Utter perfection? Decisions, decisions."

"Complete disaster would be more accurate, I feel," Tamwar said.

"I like that. Com-plete disaster," he repeated, texting the words. "Sent."

His mother held her head in her hands. "Is it not possible for us to be a normal family for one day?"

"Shabnam isn't here..." Tamwar pointed out.

"Well, except for Shabnam not being here, I mean. Can we stop the shouting and the whining and the _hilarious _insults for one afternoon? Please?"

"I can try," Syed said. He looked to his father. "Can you?"

"Okay," his father replied.

"Tam?" Syed asked.

"Fine." He paused. "Does silence count as being a normal family?"

"_Normal _families sit in front of the telly with their meals on their laps," Syed muttered.

"Don't be silly, now," she said. "Now, while you're here... how long will you be here, by the way?"

"I'm not sure. At least a week, I'd reckon."

"We've been a bit shorthanded down at the unit..."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "For two years?"

"All the replacements were useless."

"You mean, terrified of you?"

"It amounts to the same thing, does it not?" Zainab asked.

"What are you saying? You want me to muck in?" Syed replied.

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Actually, I was kind of expecting to just support..."

"I was just thinking, perhaps, you could help your family out in a time of need."

He had been away a long time, if he thought that being given something that sounded like a choice by his mother was actually a choice. "I didn't say I wouldn't do it," he said, sighing.

"There's a good boy."

"Who's working there, exactly?" he asked.

"Still Jane. Though I doubt she'll be in, for obvious reasons. Which is another reason we're shorthanded. And me. And your father, if he can fit the time in. Oh, and Tamwar when he can take a break from his studying."

"So, there's you, Jane and sometimes Tamwar and Dad. And now there's basically just you? How does that work when you're a mum?"

"The replacements are rubbish, but they do their job well enough to be servicable."

"If you're really stuck, Chris..."

She raised a hand to stop him. "Don't even go _there_."

"Mum, seriously. You obviously need the help, or you wouldn't be asking _me_. He's a good worker."

"I'd rather do it all myself, thank you."

"Don't you think you're cutting off your nose to spite your face, here?"

"I can't bear the thought of it, Syed. Please. That's the end of it, okay?"

"You could ask Peter and Lucy, then. Peter's going to uni in September and I bet Lucy could use the money."

"Their mother is sick," he mum said in a rare moment of empathy.

"Then I'm sure they could use the distraction. There's no harm in asking, is there?"

"Maybe just Peter. Jane doesn't exactly speak highly of Lucy."

"I'll ask him when I go back."

"Thank-you."

"So, you're living with the Beales? What's that like?" Tamwar asked.

"Fine. Jane was in bed, Ian was quiet, Peter and Lucy were upstairs mostly... Bobby hates me, but what can you do? The worst thing about it was the couch. I'm fairly sure it would actually be considered a torture device by the UN."

"You're sleeping on their couch," Zainab said, with some relief.

He shrugged. "Well, yeah. There's nowhere else to sleep."

"You're... alone on the couch, then," she replied.

"Like I'd let anyone else inflict that on themselves."

"You could stay here," she offered.

"Zainab!"

"I told you yesterday, Mum. I'm staying there."

"You invited him to live here yesterday?" Masood said. His voice was deceptively calm.

"Yes, I did, but only because I thought he intended on sleeping in his car. Though this couch sounds no better by the sounds of things."

"Zee, a word," he said, very quietly.

There was much back-and-forth screaming and shouting, but he couldn't make out what they were saying, except the occasional word such as "betrayed" "disgrace" "shame" "love" "liar" and "son". "Son" was said a lot by both of them.

Syed cleared his throat. "So. Oxford."

They'd always made awkward small talk during their parents' arguments to distract themselves. It never worked, but they did it anyway. "So. Homosexuality."

Syed snorted. "You don't need straight A's for that."

"Well, no," he said. "How have you been, anyway?"

"Took it one day at a time, mostly. Some days good, other days awful. Like most things," he said. He looked around and noticed everything looked very much the same. "What's it been like round here?"

"It's been two years. I mean, at first, you couldn't so much as mention your name without someone screaming at you. Everything's been a bit awkward and weird since, but, okay. I guess everything just came to a head today."

"I can't exactly blame him."

"Yeah, me either."

"Tam, you know how sorry..."

"I do know. It doesn't change anything, though."

"I wasn't expecting it to."

"I don't blame you for being gay, you know. I mean, it's not good but it's not like you can help it. But lying to everyone for _months _and then running off with him... that's why I'm angry with you."

"I can't change who I am..."

"And I just said..."

"I thought lying and hiding it would change it. If nobody except me knew it existed, then maybe I could pretend it didn't. Obviously it was idiotic and blew up in my face rather dramatically, but... I didn't just do it for fun. Do you think this would have turned out much different if I'd told the truth?"

"You wouldn't have broken Amira's heart, for one thing. Well, not so badly. And I don't think Dad would be half as angry if you hadn't lied to us for months on end."

"Yeah, but really. They were hardly going to be bursting with pride either way," he said. "And imagine if I'd told them and then found out, actually, I didn't even _like _Christian that much and so I'd basically just ruined my whole life over nothing."

"You must have known you were gay a long time before you came to London. The whole not-being-attracted-to-girls things might have given you a hint."

"I sort of knew but I didn't want to face up to it."

"How can you _sort of _know?"

"I don't know. I managed, though. And then... then Christian happened and I couldn't bury my head in the sand any more. Though God knows I tried," he said. "Imagine finding the person for you and, guess what, they're the _wrong gender_. It's just mental."

Syed could see that understanding was starting to creep into his face. "It would be quite difficult, I imagine."

"Difficult. That's one way of putting it," he said. "My whole life, I had this plan. You know, The Plan everyone has. Like yours was to go to Oxford, be a doctor. Mine was to be a successful businessman, settle down with a beautiful wife, have a lovely home, some kids..."

"Not asking for much, then."

"'When humans make plans, God laughs'. That's the saying, isn't it? God must've been wetting himself the day I made that plan. I've got exactly... none of them. Well, I have a nice flat, I suppose."

The sound of pans banging together pierced the room, followed by more unintelligible shouting.

Tamwar looked towards the direction of the noise. "Well, I don't think having life go the way you expected is a Masood thing."

"You're at Oxford," he said. "Wait. You _are _at Oxford, right?"

Tamwar rolled his eyes, but it was good-naturedly. "Yes. I have documentation proving it and everything."

"Photographic evidence?"

"Photographic, too," he replied. "Life never goes how you expect it to."

"Yeah. Which is how I ended up an estate agent. With a boyfriend."

"Not an estate agent, you said."

"My job title isn't 'estate agent', but... yeah, estate agent is pretty accurate, actually."

Tamwar smiled.

"Was that a smile?"

"No."

"_That _was a smile."

"It was more of a grimace, actually."

"Still, better than a scowl."

When his parents re-emerged from the kitchen, it was evident that his mum had been crying, but his father looked a lot calmer. Yelling was always decent for a good catharsis. "Syed, I just wanted to apologise for today,"

Syed stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds. "What?"

"I was out of line. I'm not saying I was _wrong_... but I went about it the completely wrong way. I was just shocked to see you."

"Mum, have you drugged him?" Tamwar asked.

She grinned. "Don't underestimate me, Tamwar."

"I'm sorry, too," Syed said to his father. "And not just for today."

xxx

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_SO sorry for taking so long with this chapter. This has been pretty much written for about a month now, but I've added and taken away so many parts of it, it's barely the same thing! I'm never going to be entirely happy with it, so I thought I might as well post it while I don't loathe the very sight of it! It's such a relief to get it __out there__._

_And I swear I wrote the 'Mum'll kill me' line before the 2nd of October! Oh, Syed, you're so predictable._

_February 2012 _

It was a high-pitched squeal that alerted him to his best friend. She'd come down to Manchester a few times when they'd lived there, and had the grand honour of being the only Walford resident to know exactly where they'd lived the entire time.

"Christian Clarke. Now this is a _very_ rare privilege."

He stood up to hug her. "Arms... won't... reach... around" he said.

She punched his arm affectionately. "Funny."

He released her from his grip, smiled at her and put his hands on her bump. "So, when's your due date?"

She grinned back at him and put her hands on top of his, looking down at her protruding stomach. "April, but I don't put a lot of stock in them for obvious reasons. Though this time, my boyfriend's a doctor so I feel a bit better than last time."

He took a seat, still with his hands on her belly. The sensation of feeling a human life moving around inside someone you knew was a sensation like no other. He couldn't bring himself to take his hands away. "Well, yeah, a doctor's always better than... a raging psychopath."

"Right, because your track record is so great," she said.

Christian attempted to look offended for a couple of seconds before realising it was pointless, and shrugged. "Fair point."

"So, how have the last few months been for you? Sorry I couldn't come up to Leeds, I've been..." she paused, to gesture to her stomach, "otherwise occupied. How've you been?"

He lifted his empty glass. "Largely sober."

She took it, rolling her eyes. "That's right, get the heavily pregnant woman to get the round in," she said.

"You're already stood up. And I wouldn't want to treat you any differently, now, would I?"

She headed towards the bar. "Pint of bitter with extra testosterone, is that right?" she called.

Christian clutched a hand to his chest and wiped away a non-existent tear. "Oh, Rox, you remembered."

She waddled towards the seat and handed him his drink. "You're still my best friend. Even if you did bugger off with a fella for two years and not get in contact anywhere _near _enough."

"I texted you nearly every day. What do you want?"

She rolled her eyes, as if it was blindingly obvious. "To _see _you every day. I've missed you, you know."

He tilted his head. "Don't go all soppy on me. You're making me uncomfortable."

"Ah, sorry, it's the baby. Babies make you go sentimental."

"Blaming the baby?" he asked, shaking his head with mock sadness. "That's low."

"It's amazing what you can get away with when you're pregnant."

He grinned. "Enjoying it more this time 'round, then?"

"Hell, yes. I've got a stable, secure and _sane _boyfriend this time around. Who is a doctor, no less. It makes a lot a difference having someone there you love who's definitely always going to be there."

"Yeah, I bet it does."

"Where is he, anyway? I got the impression you two were attached at the hip." She sounded relieved that he wasn't there. She'd never been particularly fond of Syed. Not that he could exactly blame her. Positions reversed, he doubted he'd be much of a fan of him, either.

"With his family."

"Let me guess, you're not there because all the compliments would make you blush."

Christian laughed. "Oh, you know me so well." He got his phone out of his pocket.

Roxy folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. "_What _do you think you're doing? Am I boring you that much?"

"Like you could ever bore me," he said. "Look, he's been there half an hour and I haven't heard any ambulances. I'm concerned."

While he was talking, she snatched the phone out of his hand. "No," she said, waving his phone around. "We are having a boyfriend-free conversation. We're not even thinking about them, all right?"

"That's pretty difficult for you to do when part of yours is sitting on your bladder right now." She looked at him, eyebrows raised. He shrugged. "You're shifting around so much I was wondered if Ronnie had put itching powder in your knicker drawer."

Roxy shrugged, admitting defeat. "Fine, but I'm taking this with me," she said, pulling the phone out of his reach and over her head before she stood up.

"Come on, Rox. One text! One teeny tiny text. I just want to make sure his family haven't burned him at the stake. Then you can take the battery out, okay? And we'll pretend we're back to being bitter and single and you've just gotten fat."

She pointed a finger at him. "You've got it bad. We promised each other we weren't going to turn into pathetic loved-up couples. And look at you! You can't spend half an hour apart from him without making sure he's okay."

"Like you're not going to be updating Dr. Al with your bathroom habits the moment you're out of sight."

"Okay, _that_," she said, "is disgusting."

"A doctor needs to know these things..."

"Now, the romance would be officially dead when I start discussing my urine with him."

While she was distracted, he managed to get the phone out of her grip. "Yoink."

"Oi!"

"Look. There, sent," he said. He placed the phone in her hand and settled back in his seat, satisfied. "You can punish me when Baby isn't playing patacake with your bladder."

xxx

It had hardly been the most exciting lunchtime drink he'd ever had. Roxy had to leave after an hour because she was so exhausted and uncomfortable and he'd spent most of that hour only half-listening to her complaining about her aches and pains, wondering how Syed was getting on. They really had turned into the boring old farts they'd mocked a couple of years ago. He paused when he passed the Masoods'. There were no sounds of glasses smashing or screaming, so it was already ten times better than he'd imagined. Unless they'd just tired themselves out and were preparing themselves for another round. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the door opened and Syed stepped out. In all honesty, he was still terrified of Zainab, though he'd admit no such thing and he swore his right eye started throbbing at the sight of Masood. Christian had never been able to take a punch. Not wanting to cause any unnecessary disturbances, but curiosity not letting him look away, he stepped out of sight. Zainab gave him a hug and Masood said something to him. While it didn't look particularly friendly, it didn't seem threatening either. Tamwar just stood back, but if Christian hadn't been so far away, he'd have sworn he looked a bit happy.

Syed walked out of the gate and Christian walked up behind him, tapping his shoulder. Syed jumped and spun around on his heel. "So, 'complete disaster', eh?" Christian commented. "That hug looked brutal."

Syed rolled his eyes. "Have you been out here the whole time?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Just good timing. I do have better things to do than wait around for you."

"Since when?"

Christian shrugged. "Fair point."

"It... got better towards the end. Dad actually apologised for being, and I quote, _'out of line_'. Now, I know Mum works wonders but..." he trailed off. "It was progress, anyway. But it was probably the most uncomfortable meal I've ever had, and given my family's track record, that's saying something."

"So, you weren't welcomed back like the prodigal son, then?"

"Not exactly. I mean, Mum's really... happy to see me, but you can tell she's gone into 'deny deny deny' mode about it, which is the only reason she can bear to be in the same room as me. Dad's still really angry with me. Tam's... me and Tam always make up in the end and we're getting there."

"But not as bad as you thought?"

"I was imagining torches and pitchforks, so no. Not so bad."

They walked for a few moments in silence, Syed avoiding Christian's gaze.

"You still seem upset," he commented.

"I know it's stupid but..." he trailed off, laughing humourlessly, "part of me hoped it was going to be the same."

"Well, that wasn't going to happen," Christian told him, sympathetically.

"I never said I was _expecting_ it..." he said.

"Well, you survived," Christian said, cheerily. "That's one thing."

Syed shook his head. "If Dad had had his way, I doubt I would have."

"It'll get better," Christian told him.

"Well, it couldn't get much _worse_," he replied. "Well, we're only here a few days, anyway. But, you know, we're talking and things, now."

"That's good, then. I told you it wouldn't be that bad."

"Right. Anyway, they're struggling down at the Unit, what with Jane and everything, so Mum's asked me to work. So I'm spending my first week off in two years in an apron, peeling potatoes."

Christian smiled. "Ah, not even a full day here and she's putting you to work. That's Zainab for you."

"Yeah. This is my penance, apparently."

"Slave labour, I take it," Christian said critically.

"I can hardly charge for my services, can I?"

"I don't know. _I'd_ pay a pretty penny."

Syed rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"No sense of humour today, then," Christian remarked.

"Can you _blame _me?" he asked. "I just basically had to listen to my father slag me off for an hour and spent the rest of the time wondering what he _thinking_."

Christian reached out to him, but Syed shrugged him off. "I'm going to the shop. Do you want anything?"

He took a step forward. "I'll come with..."

"No, I can manage. You go home and look after Jane, all right?"

Christian stood back, hurt. "Okay."

"See you at home, all right?"

xxx

Syed had spent more than his fair share of time down here in the past couple of days. He seemed to take some pleasure in the self-inflicted torture of being back in the place where all the trouble had begun. He walked up to Syed, and buried his chin in his shoulder. Syed didn't even flinch or turn to look at him. "What are you doing here?"

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Other people have concepts of personal space?" Syed said, pulling himself away under the pretence of getting new ingredients.

"Saw your mum with Denise in the caff. It looked like they were having a long argument, and, well." He gestured to Syed's clothes. "I couldn't miss the opportunity."

He looked down at himself and pulled at the apron. "I feel like such a prat."

"It brings back memories. Most of my early memories of you involve you wearing... _that_."

He pulled at the hairnet. "How did we _ever _find each other attractive?"

"Obviously our attractiveness transcends even the hideousness of aprons."

"Apparently the health and safety brigade outrank the fashion police," Syed replied.

"Plus, I don't know. I think you're pulling it off.

"Shut up," he said, pleasantly. He looked towards the entrance warily. "You should really go. You don't know how long it's going to be before Denise calls Mum a nosy cow who should mind her own business and Mum storms off."

As if on cue, footsteps echoed through the room. "Hide! Mum'll kill me if she sees you here."

Christian rolled his eyes. "Ah, now _that _brings back memories," he said, before slipping into the office.

Syed heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, hello, _Jane_," he said, grinning, and saying her name loud enough to attract Christian's attention.

Jane smiled back, bemused. "Now I could do with an introduction like that every day."

"I thought you were Mum," Syed admitted.

"And... that would be so awful because...? I know your mum can be a pain but..."

Christian stepped around from the corner ."Hello, sis."

"Ah," she replied, knowingly. She turned to Syed. "Well, that explains why you look so happy." Syed gave her a fake smile in response.

"What're you doing here?" Christian murmured. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

She rolled her eyes, pointing a finger in his face. "You tell me to rest one more time and I'll kill you. I've got cancer, not narcolepsy. I'm sick to death of resting. I feel absolutely fine and everyone's tiptoeing around like I'm made of glass. It's doing my head in."

"If you want something to do, there's plenty," Syed offered, gesturing to the mess that had once been the kitchen. "I'll be glad to only have to have six arms instead of twelve."

She sighed, gratefully. "Yes, please. If Ian makes me one more cup of tea, I'm going to throw it in his face."

"You're complaining because he cares too much? The man can't win," Christian commented.

"No, his version of 'caring' is 'suffocating'. Seriously, there are psycho stalkers out there going 'give the poor woman a break."

"Poor Ian, even when he's trying he's still rubbish," Christian replied, chuckling.

She shrugged. "He doesn't know how to _be _caring. It's not his fault. It's mine, for letting him get away with it all these years."

The three of them jumped at the sound of feet descending down the stairs. "Please tell me that's Ian come to hunt you down and drag you back to the cave?"

Jane shook her head, eyes wide. "No. He doesn't know I've come here."

Before she'd even entered, Zainab's complaints carried. "That Denise, she doesn't know what problems are. I have a business to run, a child to care for and a son..." She caught sight of Christian and her eyes narrowed to the point where they were almost closed, "what are _you _doing here?"

"Came down with Jane, to make sure she's okay."

Zainab scoffed. "I'm sure the presence of my son had nothing to do with your concern for your sister."

"Nope," Christian said, brightly, wrapping an arm around his clearly uncomfortable big sister, "just some good old-fashioned sibling concern."

Zainab gave him the world's fakest smile. "Well, she is fine, as you can see. Looking rather well, if I should say so myself," she said. "She's a big girl, I'm sure she can cope. So you can go."

The blatant unfriendliness in her tone made him sorely tempted to saunter over to Syed and snog his face off. The only reason he didn't was he thought that Syed wouldn't appreciate it much. Though the thought of the look on Zainab's face almost made him do it anyway, he resisted the urge. "I was just going anyway. See you two later."

Zainab didn't even wait until he was out of earshot. "What did I tell you about _that man _on my property, Syed?"

"Don't be stupid, Mum," Syed said, busying himself with getting something out of the fridge so he didn't have to look at her. "He was just with Jane."

"I thought you at least had some respect for our beliefs, but here you are, _flaunting _it in our faces," she said. "Your father was right."

"Mum, I didn't invite him here. The last time _I _checked, he still had free will, and if he wants to make sure his sister is okay, then I'm in no position to stop him."

"Does he live to upset us?" she asked. "Because, if not, he should taking it up as a career, because he excels at it."

"No, I'm actually fairly sure he has better things to do," he said. "And you wonder why I won't stay at home, when the most innocent thing in the _world _ends up in a fight. What next? You run into him into the Square and it's some mass conspiracy to upset you?"

"Because subtle and deferential are big words in his dictionary."

"He knows how much you mean to me. He's not going to deliberately upset you, because it would upset _me_. Okay? He's not the villain you're painting him as, Mum," he said. "I... I _chose _to go with him. He didn't make me do anything. We weren't planning to run away together or whatever. He was moving, to get away from me, because it hurt to see me, and_ out of respect for you_. And... I couldn't stand the thought of losing him. He told me to come back, because he thought I couldn't be happy without my family. He didn't steal your little boy away from you, or whatever it is you're telling yourself that makes it so you're not angry with me. So, if you're going to blame anyone in this scenario, _blame me_. Be angry with me. I deserve it."

Zainab stared at him, stunned. She swallowed, clearly an attempt to stop tears from flowing. "You should get back to work. The pair of you."

He touched her arm. "Mum..."

She wrenched her arm away and waved him away. "Just do it, Syed. This function is important."

"Okay," he whispered.

He spent a few minutes violently stirring the various pans. He could hear Christian's voice whispering _passive-aggressive _in his ear, which was infuriating. Realising that he was going to turn the food to mush if he let this flounder any longer, he threw down the spoon. "Just watch these for a couple of minutes, all right? Won't be long."

"What am I supposed to tell..." Jane trailed off when she turned around, he was gone.

xxx

When he stepped outside, Christian was waiting. "Well, thanks a _lot_," Syed snarled.

Christian spun around to face him. "_What_?"

He sighed and turned his head away from Christian, but he was obviously seething. Christian placed his hand underneath his chin and turned his face towards him. Syed stepped backwards, out of his reach.

Christian let his hand drop. "This has always been your problem. You can't just have it out, you have to let it simmer under until you blow your lid. Then you say things you regret."

"Look, just because you were bored this morning or whatever, I've just had a huge blowout with my mother, because she said you were out to deliberately upset her. I defended you, but I'm wondering, now."

"She has to accept this, Syed," Christian said.

"She doesn't _have _to do anything," Syed hissed. "This is between you and me. I chose you over my family, who have done _everything_, given me everything I could possibly have asked for, isn't that enough for you, without you trying to upset her even more?"

"I wasn't _trying _to do anything."

"Right, this morning was completely innocuous," Syed retorted.

"I wanted to see you, I didn't realise that had become a crime."

Syed scoffed. "You see me every day."

"Yeah, but we haven't had a _conversation _over ten minutes since you had that dinner with your family. Never mind anything else."

"So? We've both been busy with our families. We haven't seen them in two years. When we go back to Leeds, we can have a three-hour conversation about our _feelings _or whatever the hell you're expecting from me," he said. "I need to go back. Mum will wonder where I've gotten off to. Though, after that, I think she'll be able to guess."

Christian grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving. "You spend every spare minute down that place. I could really have used in the last couple of days, but you've been nowhere to be seen," he said. "I thought you came here to be with me, to support me, but, no, it's just all about you, as usual. I said you didn't have to come, but you _insisted_. I thought you were being pretty selfless. That should've been my warning, shouldn't it? You never do anything that's not in your own interests."

"That's not fair. I gave up _everything_..."

"Be honest, you still resent me for taking you away from your family."

"No, I..."

"But you do, Syed."

Syed gritted his teeth. "Stop talking like this..."

"Never mind that I was going to leave Walford to spare _you _the pain, never mind that you _chose _to come with me, never mind that I didn't even know that you knew I was leaving. Oh, no, it's all _my _fault you lost your family," he said. "It's not my fault you're gay."

"No, but it's your fault for making me fall in love with you," he snapped.

Christian's face softened. "That's not exactly what you'd call 'my fault' either."

"Look, I... I never meant to ignore you or not be there for you or whatever and if I have been, I'm sorry...I'm just... I'm just trying to get back in Mum's good books."

"Syed, the only way that's going to happen is if you repent for your sins and settle down with a nice Muslim girl. And we both know you can't do that. You're not going to become her golden boy again by chopping onions," he said. "Look, I get it. You miss your family and you want make up with them, but you can't do it by pretending like we don't exist."

"I know."

"I know how you feel. I didn't speak to my mum for two _decades _after I came out."

"Yeah, but you didn't have a good relationship with your mother."

"But I still loved her. I still wanted her approval. I was only a teenager and here my mum was, saying she never wanted to lay eyes on me again. That _hurt. _Zainab, at least she gave you a choice. Not a good choice, but a choice. My mum just... it was like she couldn't wait to get rid of me. Like she'd been waiting for an excuse to get rid of me and me being gay was just a convenient excuse," he said. "I know how much it hurts."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say..."

"I'm saying that I understand you want to make things right with your mum, but don't expect them to be _the same_. Because they're never going to be the same. You can hide and grovel and work as much as you'd like, but you can't expect things to be like before. You just can't."

"I _know_."

"I don't think you do. I think that there's some part of you that expects to be able to hop into a metaphorical time machine and have things exactly like before, except still keep me."

"I don't..."

"That's why you're angry with me. Not because I'm trying to deliberately upset your mother, which I'm _not_, but because I'm ruining your delusion."

"I need to get back to work."

Christian sighed, not bothering to try to stop him. "What is it? Does Walford bring out your 'run and hide' instinct, or _what_?"

"See you later."

xxx

"What's wrong?" Jane asked.

"Nothing."

"Then why've you got a face like a smacked arse?"

Christian shrugged. "It's really nothing. Especially compared to you. Do you want anything?"

He went to stand up, but she forced him back down. "You know, I never thought I'd say this, but I'm getting tired of being waited on hand and foot. I'm healthy!"

"But you're not."

She was silent for a couple of moments. "I _feel _healthy. That's what matters. I never thought I'd miss Ian acting like a slavemaster."

Christian shuddered with mock-revulsion. "Never tell me."

She smiled. "Good to see being in a relationship hasn't cleaned up that filthy mind of yours."

"Embarrassing Syed's entertaining, what can I say."

"What's he said?"

"Who?"

"Syed. I saw that look on your face just there. I was there this morning."

He shrugged. "We had a fight."

"What else is new? I thought that was foreplay for the two of you."

Christian chuckled. "Yeah, but we haven't fought for ages. Not since we first moved away. Coming back here... it's just dug up some things I'd rather have left buried."

"I didn't mean to..."

"Don't you dare," he warned her. "I'm here for as long as you need me."

"Seriously, Christian, I'm going to be fine. I _feel _fine. I just wanted you here for... moral support. I was just scared."

"And you're not now?" he asked sceptically.

"Of course. But... I'm okay. I've gotten over the shock a bit now. I know you're happy in Leeds. I've _seen _you up there. Being back here is doing you no good."

"I like being here with you. I couldn't settle back in Leeds knowing you were poorly."

"You're going to have to at some point."

"Yeah."

"Christian, you're not seriously considering what I think you are."

"No! No, of course not. It's just nice being back. Walford... even though I went through some stock of crap here, it feels like home."

"I was going to say. Syed would rip your throat out."

"He just about did," he murmured.

"His mum didn't half lay into him. He stood up for you, though," she said. "He loves you to bits. Standing up to Zainab takes balls. Even Walford, happiness vacuum it is, won't change that."

"Love was never the problem with us."

"Christian, let's look at the facts. He gave up his family for you. He left his whole life behind. And he's still facing the consequences of that. Can't you cut him a bit of slack? He loves his family, too and he doesn't want to upset them. You upset them. It's not your fault, but it's not Syed's either. Just give him a chance to build some bridges. Avoid Zainab as much as physically possible."

"And Masood?"

"I'd probably stay clear of Tamwar, as well."

"The Masoods are fans, then."

"There's only one Masood whose opinion you actually care about, though," she reminded him.

He sighed, taking her hands between his. "You're right."

"I know you're all about confronting things head-on, but you _need _to be there for him, instead of having a go at him. Poor bloke's got it coming from all ends."

He tilted his head to the side. "Do I need to say it again?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"Fine, you're right."

"Christian, I've really missed having you about, you know."

"I've missed you as well."

"You should come up more often."

"Don't worry, that's definitely on the agenda," he said. "You want anything?"

"I'll have a cuppa, if you're making one."

"I thought you were sick of people making them."

"Duh, I was joking," she said. "No woman could ever get sick of having tea made for them."

xxx

Syed popped his head around the corner, bottle of wine in hand. "What's that for?" Christian asked.

"Hedging my bets. Got a funny look off Patrick, but I think he just figured I've gone entirely over to the Dark Side," he said, handing the bottle to him. "Look, I am sorry, about before."

"Syed, it's fine. Really. Being back here is making us both mental. I should've been more... understanding. I really did think she'd be gone a while. I didn't come down to cause trouble, I just wanted to see you. I thought you were avoiding me."

"What would be the point of avoiding you? You're always... _there_. I can't get shot of you."

Christian snorted, amused. "Like a bad smell."

"Like _oxygen_."

Christian grinned. "So, you're basically saying you'd die without me? Little pathetic, Sy."

"Not... die. Suffer severe brain injury, maybe."

"Too late for that."

"Well, my IQ has definitely slipped in the past couple of years."

He sat down on the couch and patted the space beside him. Christian entwined their fingers together. "So, let's have it. What did you say to her?"

Syed sighed and sat down beside him. "She was going on and on about how you were out to upset her and we were rubbing her face in it. And I just flipped and reminded her that _I _chose _you_, not the other way around. Told her you didn't force me into anything, so she could forget casting you as the villain of the piece."

"But she knew all that already."

"Have you _met _my mother?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. "Deliberate pigheadedness is an art to her."

"Still, it's not like you told her any new information. I don't get why it upset her so much."

"Hearing that information spoken aloud by the person who hurt her in the first place? It's a totally different thing. You of all people should know that knowing something and hearing it said aloud are two completely separate things," he said. "You should've seen her face, Christian. It was awful."

"Y'know, there's nothing wrong with stating facts. You shouldn't feel guilty."

"Stating facts in order to _deliberately upset _someone? Yeah, there is," he said, staring down at their joined hands.

"You weren't trying to upset her, you were trying to protect me. Nothing wrong with that, either."

"I wish that was it. Sounds noble. That's not me though, is it? I was just _so _angry with her for not being okay with us, I _wanted _to hurt her. What sort of son wants to hurt his own mother?"

"The kind that's been away from her for two years because she not only wants but _expects _him to lie to himself and be miserable in order to fit some _norm_? It's totally understandable, Sy. You've got three years of frustration behind you. Wanting your mother to accept what you are isn't wrong."

"It's not _right_. It's not her fault she believes what she does. _I_ was brought up believing it."

"There's got to be a better way of coping with it than 'lie to yourself forever or be disowned', though."

"There's really not. Do you really think she wants her son to burn in hell?"

"I know her intentions are good, but you can't be who she wants you to be. Because that's not who you are. All you get from trying to is hurting everyone," he said. "I think you learned that last time."

Syed nodded, letting the truth of the words sink in. "I just want to be a good son. It's all I've ever wanted."

"You are."

"Somehow, I think that's for my parents to decide."

"Look, if you were a bad son, you'd have told them straight out you were gay. You would have been with me, flaunting our relationship at every opportunity. You wouldn't have cared what they thought. We wouldn't have spent those months apart, and you wouldn't have spent all those months miserable, if you were a bad son. You wouldn't have spent the better part of a year fighting yourself. And you certainly wouldn't still be trying to be the dutiful son after all this time."

Syed smiled at him. "It's amazing how you can get _that _from 'lied to his family for a year and chose his forbidden lover over them'."

"I'll call you on your bullshit, but I'm not gonna let you think you've got a character flaw you haven't," he said. "Now, if you'd said 'bad _fiancé'_..."

"The path to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say."

"Well, no fun people go to heaven, anyway. They're all boring old virgins who spent their whole lives playing...Sudoku instead of getting laid. Seriously, anyone who did anything fun or worthwhile in their lives is going straight to hell. It'll be a right laugh, while we're getting tortured. We'd be bored to death in Heaven, except we couldn't die because we were already dead... _that'd _be the real torture."

"That's not funny," he said, grinning.

"At the end of the day, anywhere that'd take Anne Widecombe on is not a place I want to be," Christian replied.

Syed squeezed Christian's hand. "So, are we all right?"

"What are you on about?" he asked, incredulously. "We're always all right."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks for all the reviews, faves and alerts. They're really lovely and keep me writing. _

_Jesus, did Syed make me angry last night (I still love you, Syed, I just don't like you very much right now!). So I compensated by writing playful Christian/Syed where they're happy and secure and Syed wouldn't react with disgust if Christian called him his boyfriend, which is the way it should be!_

_February 2012 _

While they were rather good at arguing, as they had had so much practice in the past, the making-up part was where they truly excelled. For a time, Christian had been convinced that the only reason they managed to hang it together through all the struggles was making-up afterwards.

There was a gagging sound behind them and they pulled apart. Lucy was stood in the doorway, a disgusted expression on her face. "Ew. People over the age of thirty should not be snogging. It's minging."

"I'm twenty-six!" Syed exclaimed, trying to get his breathing level. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Yeah, but Christian's thirty-nine, so your average age is thirty-three. Therefore, minging."

"So, I need to start going out with... twenty-year-olds to break even. Sounds plausible. Syed, you're finished."

"Amazing, you can't normally do maths to save your life, but when your _age _is called into question, you're there like..." He snapped his fingers.

"I like twenty," Christian said, nodding. "It's _just _barely not-creepy."

"Won't Darren Miller be twenty now?" Syed said.

"Twenty-one, I think," Lucy replied.

"... yeah. It's still creepy. What's the creepy cut-off point?" Christian asked.

"Heather doesn't have one, apparently," Lucy cut in.

"That is true. Darren was, what? Eighteen when he knocked her up? That's got to count for something."

"Twenty-five," Syed offered. "I think that's reasonable nearing forty."

"It's got to be twenty-two."

"No, it's twenty-five."

"Why?"

"Because that's how old I was when we started."

"What's your cut-off point in the other direction? When does it stop being an older man and start being life-insurance robbery?" Christian asked.

"Given my penchant for older people..." He paused, looking at Christian purposefully. "Sixty?"

"Okay, that's it. I'm officially telling people about your undying love for Avril Lavigne."

Syed gasped. "You wouldn't."

"Already did. There's another person in the room, isn't there?"

Lucy smirked.

"I've officially outed you as a fan of a badly-dressed Canadian. We're even," Christian said smugly.

"No way. Mocking you in a way that was obviously not serious does not deserve that."

"Fine. That's it. I've kept it secret long enough. Lucy, what's your uncle's favourite film of all time?"

"Don't you dare," Christian warned.

"The Godfather, he always told me. Not the third one, though."

"Oh, oh, lies. How could you tell such lies to your _niece_, Christian?"

"You'll pay for this,"

"_She's All That_. He _fills up _when the main guy says to the geeky girl that he loves her."

"Ugh. It's moments like this that make me glad we're not related by _blood_."

"It's... not my favourite film of all time. Hardly," Christian said, embarrassed.

"Oh, don't lie. You've watched it, what? Fifteen times? Twenty? You've seen the Godfather four times."

"Nine."

"Including _all three films_," Syed pointed out.

"They're long! And complicated."

"This is the first time I'm pleased I walked in on Uncle Christian getting off with someone."

Syed's smile faltered. He didn't much like any reference to Christian's long and checkered sexual history. Christian didn't miss the change in expression. "One time, Lucy," Christian reminded her.

"Yeah, and aren't you glad I broke that one up? He was _actually _rotten."

"Beer goggles," he said, by way of explanation.

"I've never had the pleasure," Syed replied.

"Of snogging mingers?" Lucy asked, bemused. "It's... not all it's cracked up to be."

"Of beer goggles," Syed replied.

"Oh, yeah, you people don't drink. What's that like?"

"Haven't you _just _turned eighteen?" Christian asked.

She put on a wide-eyed innocent look that was entirely unconvincing. "I have. Which is why the first time I snogged a rotter while under the influence was last week. And I certainly never chucked up all over Lauren's new £100 jeans before 2011."

Syed gave an unconvincing smile. "It's always nice to find out what I'm missing out on."

Christian clapped his hands together and rubbed them together. "Right, isn't it a school day for you? So time for beddy-byes."

"_College_," she corrected.

"There are teachers. In a classroom. It's school."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You just want me out of the way so you can shag your boyfriend on the couch."

"Yeah... not so much. Being surrounded by your sister and brother-in-law and not to mention a seven-year-old prone to wandering in at inopportune moments, it's not exactly a picnic at sunset."

"Like that ever stopped you before," she said. "And I wouldn't by the way, it's so uncomfortable. The floor on the other..."

He raised a hand to stop her. "Right, seriously, _bed_," he said, his voice holding a warning.

"I'm just trying to help..." she said, grinning.

She cackled all the way up the stairs.

"Sorry. Well... you of all people know what she's like."

He shook his head. "It's fine, really."

"You don't like it, do you?"

"What?"

"People talking about it like that."

"Talking about what like what?"

"Our relationship like Lucy just did."

"It's just... crude is all. Muslims aren't known for their openness when it comes to sex. Nobody ever really talked about that... _openly_. Behind closed doors and all that. It's always weird having people be so casual about it."

"I don't know, we're pretty _crude_."

"Yeah," he whispered, ducking his head in an attempt to hide his pinkening cheeks.

"Are you _blushing_?"

"No. It's just hot in here. It's just...different when it's outsiders talking about it like that, though. We've lived in such a bubble the last couple of years... it's weird having people _know _about us and acting like it's not a big deal." He paused, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. "I... suppose I've built you and me to be this huge drama in my head and I always expect people to be so scandalised and... tip-toeing around it. But then to have people just blow it off like it's not even an issue... it makes a nice change, but it's just bizarre."

"Wait. Let me get this straight. It freaks you out to have people _not _freaking out about it?"

"In a way. It's like being told when you're a kid, all these horrible things will happen if you touch the oven or whatever and then growing up and touching the oven and realising it only burns a bit."

"Syed."

"Yeah?"

He gave him a serious look. "Are you comparing me to a dodgy oven?"

Syed thought about it, then nodded, a half-smile on his face. "In a good way, though."

"Well, then. It's official. That is, hands-down, the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"Sentimentality was never really our thing though, was it?"

"I don't know. I'm fairly sure I said some pretty soppy stuff after that Christmas party last year."

Syed barked out a laugh. "You compared me to one of your exes and then passed out on the bathroom floor!"

"You came out the better, I'm sure." He hesitated. "Is that why you left me there?" Christian asked.

"Nooo. You said you liked it there because it was cool."

"Lies," he accused. "You just couldn't lift me with those bony little arms of yours." He grabbed Syed's wrist and shook his arm to demonstrate.

"Yeah, you're right. I couldn't lift you up. You _have _gained weight these days."

"Muscle weighs more than fat," Christian remarked.

"You've got to admit, you've gone a little soft," he replied, poking Christian's stomach.

He patted non-existent paunch. "Contentment does that."

"Then why am I anorexic, according to Mum?"

"Well, obviously, _you've_ spent the last two years in abject misery."

"Obviously."

"I don't know. You've got a metabolism most people would kill for?" he asked. "Plus, you're a _worrier_. You always were. Worriers are always thin."

"And that's why you're so fat? Because you're carefree?"

"Fat! You know that is the worst thing you could possibly say to me."

Syed smirked. "I know."

"I am not fat!" he protested. "Not even a little bit."

"Christian," Syed said confidentially, "you have man boobs."

"Also known as pecs! I know you have no experience..."

"Don't worry." He patted his hand patronisingly. "I'm buying you a nice bra for your birthday, get them under control."

Christian reached out for his hand and placed it on his chest. "Feel them! Not man boobs."

Syed slipped a hand under Christian's t-shirt and felt his 'pecs'. "No, they definitely are."

There was a loud sound of someone clearing their throat. "Uh, hello."

The sight of Ian in his dressing gown and not much more made Syed withdraw his hand as if Christian's skin was burning him and take on the body language of choir boy. "Christian, a word," Ian said.

"Somebody's in trouble," Christian sing-songed.

Syed just stared down at his hands, trying not to smile.

Feeling like a misbehaving schoolboy dragged into the headmaster's office, Christian followed a pissed-off Ian into the kitchen. Anger became him a lot more than sadness, Christian noticed. If him and Syed playing about stopped him thinking about Jane for two seconds, then it was worth it.

Ian closed the door behind them, eyeing it warily. "You promised me," Ian hissed. You promised me, if I let you stay here, you wouldn't be... cavorting around with him under my roof."

"We were messing about!"

Ian scoffed. "That was apparent."

"I mean, just having a laugh. We weren't doing anything... like that."

"I propose a solution to the problem," Ian volunteered.

"What problem? We're not... we haven't had sex under your roof. I promised you that."

"And that is a problem for you, is it not? See, I have a solution to both our problems. My discomfort with... _this_. Especially since _this _almost destroyed Masala Queen, a business that was hard-earned, if you'd care to recall, single-handedly. And it also solves your problem of not being able to... satisfy your urges."

"Right. That's all I've been thinking of the past six days. 'Satisfying my urges'."

"Thing is, your old flat is empty. It's got all your basics. And everything works. Except the oven," he said. "No point you and him cramped in here, especially with all his moaning about the couch, when there's a perfectly viable residence across the Square."

"You're just doing this to charge me rent!" Christian accused.

"You're not going to be here much longer, are you?" he said. "So I'll be charging you by the day."

If it had been anyone else, Christian would have been sure they were joking. Ian wasn't.

"It's overcrowded here as it is, and I don't want to stifle Jane during this painful time. Plus, I imagine that place has... memories for you."

"Yeah, many _wonderful _memories," he said, rolling his eyes. "Which is why I was _so _eager to come back."

"So, will you?" Ian asked.

"If you think it'll make things easier on Jane. Could use some privacy anyway, as you say."

Ian nodded. "Right, then. I'll get you the keys in the morning," he said. "Can the pair of you control yourselves until then?"

"I think we'll manage, _somehow_."

"Good. Right, then. Goodnight."

"'Night, Ian."

xxx

The sense of déjà vu that had been lurking in his stomach for nearly a week grew ever larger with the key to his old flat in his hand. With Syed standing behind him, he had an urge to look around to check no-one was watching them. He shook his head to himself, amused, as he opened the door. Old habits die hard, then.

Syed was staring at him as they climbed the stairs. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about the good old days."

"Which days were they, then?" Syed asked.

Christian looked over his shoulder at Syed as slid the key into the door. "It wasn't all bad."

"Most of it was," he replied.

Christian walked into the flat then stepped back out, coughing. "Ugh. You don't have a dust allergy, do you?"

"Like you or Mum ever leave enough dust for me to find out. Why?"

"When Ian said it was unoccupied, he forgot about the dust bunnies."

Syed stuck his head around the corner of the door and immediately regretted it. "Dust _elephants_ more like."

"Jane did say he's been busy lately."

"Has it been unoccupied for the entire two years?" he asked, incredulously. "With someone emptying a hoover in it occasionally?"

"Ian says it's cursed. Five people in, none lasted more than two months, apparently. Must be a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"We're going to have a job on," Christian announced, walking into the flat. "Give it a good clean."

"What's the point? We're only staying another couple of days."

"Can _you _sleep here with it in this state?" Christian asked, with an eyebrow raised."

"Compared to sleeping at the Beales'? I could sleep in a ball curled up on the floor and be rather content, actually."

"Sy, I've caught you washing up at three in the morning because you can't stand leaving bowls unwashed."

"Only when I couldn't sleep."

"..._because _the bowls hadn't been washed. You're your mother's son."

"Okay, tell me, what have I ever done to you that warrants you saying that?" he asked, horrified.

Christian grinned. "Sorry." He grabbed his hand and pulled him into the flat. "Come on, it'll take a couple of hours, tops."

"A couple of _hours_?" Syed repeated.

"Well, no stone unturned and all that. Unless you fancy taking a shower tomorrow and finding mildew on the curtains."

Syed shuddered involuntarily at the very thought. Then something caught his eye and a smile spread across his face. "You know, with the dust and everything, I think you've missed something."

"Oh, there's not rats? That's the last thing we need."

He barely managed to contain his laughter. "Not quite." He pointed towards the corner of the room.

Christian turned around and his face fell. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Syed clasped his shoulder. "So, the age-old question, top or bottom?"

"Funny."

"Tam always wanted one of those. You know, back when he worshipped the ground I walked on."

"I can't imagine that somehow."

"We were inseparable. You know, 'til I got too cool to have some little kid following me about."

Christian turned towards him. "You were _never _cool."

"I was," Syed protested, rather weakly.

"I've seen your school photos, remember? No way was that haircut ever acceptable in 2001."

"Just because I was still in school this century," he teased.

"Oh, your words, they hurt," Christian drawled. He looked towards the corner of the room despairingly. "But bunk beds must mean kids, right? So that means, adults. And that means..." He started walking towards the spare room.

"Unless Ian got so desperate he started renting out to seven-year-olds." Noticing the direction Christian was heading in, he called out, "There's no way a double bed fits in there."

He stopped dead and faced Syed. "We're just going to have to forget those primitive ideas of 'personal space'."

"Like that's even in your dictionary." He shrugged. "It's only for a couple of days, anyway, so we can cope. Even if we have separate bunks."

"Oh, I think five days is more than enough of sleeping alone. Don't you?"

"Yes."

Christian stood before him, letting his eyes rake down his body. "I know exactly what you're thinking right now," he whispered.

"You do?"

"Yep. Something along the lines of 'how does he expect me to do it in this mess?'"

Syed rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You got me."

"Yeah, 'cos I was thinking the same thing," he said. He walked towards the cupboard where he'd kept the cleaning supplies and was pleased to see they were still there. Not his brand, but they'd have to do. He got out various cleaning paraphernalia and placed them on the side.

"And you're taking the mick about _me _being a perfectionist?"

"Perfectionist... neat freak... it's all the same when you get down to it, isn't it?"

"It just makes me feel better. Like... even if my life's a mess, if everything's physically clean, it's better."

"Yeah."

"The house was never cleaner than after we... Dad, he thought it was guilt, Mum thought I was helping her out with Kamil. But it was actually because it took my mind off things. When everything was done and I had to sit and actually think about things... that was the worst part."

"That why the flat was so clean during Ramadan?"

He nodded slowly. "It was just... difficult doing it on my own. Not that I wasn't used to it after four years, but still. At least I didn't have to work with food this time around."

"My flat was a complete wreck after you..." he trailed off, letting the unspoken words hang for a couple of seconds. "It was the day I decided to leave, that I cleaned up. Suppose I wanted to clean my life up in more ways than one."

Syed cocked his head to the side. It was one of the things he never talked about. He supposed he was uncomfortable with remembering that Christian was planning on leaving without him, and he'd been none the wiser until the very day. The thought of being so close to losing him for good was almost unbearable. "You know, I never asked. You hung about all that time after. What made you decide to go, then?"

He looked at Syed for a few seconds, then shrugged, getting a duster out of the cupboard. "Nothing in particular," he said. He handed Syed a cloth. "Let's get to work, then. Sooner we finish, the better."

_March 2010_

Christian mostly sat around in the hideous plaid pyjamas Roxy had bought him as a joke for Christmas last year. They were the type of hideous that hurt your eyes if you looked at them too long. They'd still had the creases in them from the cardboard they'd been folded in. They also happened to be the most comfortable thing he owned. When one was unemployed and desperately single approaching forty, sitting around in ugly, comfortable pyjamas watching E4 was the only way to go. He was fairly sure weekday programming was making his brain cell count drop considerably. It wasn't like he'd ever used them much, anyway. He didn't need a functioning brain, anyway: he was going to get fat and die alone. Nobody needed any intelligence to do that. He briefly considered getting a cat because all lonely, pathetic people did that, didn't they? That was the stereotype- giving up on humanity apparently involved getting attached to something non-human that wouldn't give a shit about you back. Though, frankly, he wouldn't trust himself with a cat. Either he'd forget to feed it, or he'd actually get attached to it and it would die in some horribly painful, tragic road traffic accident.

His phone vibrated. He ignored it, as usual. Roxy's phone calls averaged five times a day. The average was slowly dropping off. After everybody found out about him and Syed, she'd rang him every half-hour. Jane's average was two times. Lucy was the only person he'd answer the phone to, because he felt guilty otherwise, but their conversations were shallow, brief. She sounded worried about him, which made him feel worse. There was only one reason he kept his phone turned on, and it was stupid. Well, not stupid, pointless. It had been sixteen days since he'd spoken to Syed, that horrible last conversation. He'd seen him sixty-two hours ago, not that he was counting. He'd looked tired and pale. Christian had stared at him for a ridiculously impolite length of time. Syed had looked up in that way people tend to when bearded weirdos stare at them for a full minute. He'd looked frightened, as if accidentally making eye contact with your ex was a crime. Still, he'd kept the eye contact for a few seconds longer than was generally considered polite before he'd pulled himself away. Even from the distance he'd been away, he could feel the effort it took for him to make himself walk away. Part of him was glad to see Syed was struggling because it made him feel an iota less pathetic, but the other part didn't want him to be in pain, for any reason.

He'd gone back to his flat, bread and milk forgotten and looked at his apartment with fresh eyes. James would have been proud. If his theory had been correct, Christian would have been living it up the past couple of weeks. It had been a complete and utter wreck. It even smelled a little, because he hadn't the energy to clean it even a bit. He hated mess, he always had. But in all honesty, he'd barely noticed. He'd spent three hours cleaning his flat- it normally took half-an-hour, if it was particularly 'messy', which spoke volumes- to the point where Zainab Masood herself couldn't have picked fault. He was actually fairly confident that the floors had actually changed colour. He threw out all the alcohol that smelled more like floor cleaner than anything that could actually be digested by the human body, but kept all the good stuff. Everyone needed a decent supply of alcohol. You never knew when you might need it.

Someone was knocking at the door. He ignored it, thinking it was probably Roxy. He would ignore her and she'd go away, though she'd then send him texts so full of expletives Chubby Brown would blush. She was feeling particularly persistent tonight, but he wanted to be on his own. There was nothing difficult to understand about that, yet she seemed to think she knew better for him. Always one for variety, she was screaming through the door at him. He was trying his best to tune her out, but her voice had a particularly irritating quality to it tonight that he couldn't put his finger on. Eventually, he decided to _actively _tell her to leave him alone, though he knew it probably meant her finding some way around him to get inside.

When he opened the door, it was Zainab. Well, that explained why the voice had been annoying him so much. He narrowed his eyes. "How did you get up here?"

"You left your door unlocked. Most unwise. _Anyone _could get in," she said. "Where is Syed?"

The sound of his name was like a blow. Everyone had been avoiding it, scared of sending him off the deep end. It wasn't surprising; he wasn't exactly the poster child for sanity right now. He laughed, humourlessly. "How would I know?" he asked. She was on her tiptoes, trying to see past him. "What? You think he's... for God's sake. I'm not responsible for every sin he commits, Zainab. Where do you think he is? Hiding in a closet? To be fair, if he were, he'd be following your word to the letter."

She was looking around, face crumpled up in disgust at her having to be in his presence. "Well, for some reason, Christian, I don't entirely trust your word."

He crossed his arms over his chest, letting her examine his apartment to her heart's content. He had nothing to hide. "Believe me, this is the last place he wants to be. When you're running away, the last place you want to go is the scene of the crime," he said. "You know Syed, he's not the world's biggest confronter of problems."

Zainab glared at him. "Syed, if you're here and hiding from me, I swear to God, I will find out and rip your head from your shoulders. I'll do it," she called out. "Don't you think I won't."

"Talking to yourself's the first sign of madness, you know," he shouted after her.

She stared at him, eyes wide. He could almost _see _her anger narrow down to him. It would have been intimidating if he'd given a shit, he was sure. "You find this funny? Is this all some big joke to you? Drag my son into some dirty little affair and then have a laugh at his expense."

"Actually, I don't find it the slightest bit funny."

"That's odd, because you're hardly grovelling."

"I have apologised a million times. The word 'sorry' kind of loses its meaning after a while."

"Try a million and one. It won't be enough. You have any idea the sort of havoc you've wreaked on my family? We will never recover from this, not fully. We may make some progress, but I'll never look at him the same way again. Neither will his brother, or-or...his father. I hope that pleases you."

"It doesn't. Believe me. But remember, Syed was no innocent victim in this. Say whatever you want, but don't you make out like I did anything against his will."

"I'm sure you twisted his mind..."

"No twisting," he interrupted. He'd heard this from her lips so many times, and was no less hurt by the accusation that somehow Syed's feelings for him had been brought about by manipulation on his part. "He was gay before he met me and he'll be gay a long time afterward."

"You were a _blip_," she spat out. "Never let yourself believe you were anything more than that."

He couldn't speak for several moments. In the past couple of weeks, in his worst moments, he'd entertained that thought, that Syed now thought of him as nothing but a huge blemish on an already spotty record. But he'd seen how Syed looked at him sometimes. When Syed had broken-up with him that final time, he'd looked how Christian had felt. He _knew _that Syed loved him. He just loved his family more. It was that simple. Even if he knew her words weren't true, he was tempted to lash out and tell her he hadn't been her son's first, and he probably wouldn't be his last, either. Instead, he just said, "You really think he'd risk losing his family over a _blip_?"

She looked him square in the eyes. "It wouldn't be the first time, now, would it?"

"He learned his lesson from that, Zainab. You have no idea how scared he was of losing you..."

"Apparently not scared enough," she murmured.

"You don't know the hell he went through. You think he took pleasure out of deceiving you?"

She nodded, with a shrug. "Sometimes...I wonder."

"I _love _him, Zainab. I love him so much and..."

She looked at him like it was the most repulsive thing she'd ever heard. Stupidly, he was still trying to make her understand, to bring her around, but it was impossible. Seeing that expression on her face hurt him. He'd been fond of Zainab, in an odd way. He wondered what it was like for Syed, seeing that look on his own mother's face. The slightest anger he'd had at Syed for choosing his family flickered out, then. "Don't," she snarled. "Don't you pretend you even _know _what love is. _I _love him, I want what's best for him."

"And what's best for him? Lying to himself? Marrying some poor girl who he can never love? Being _miserable_? Yeah, that sounds best. What sort of mother _are _you? Who lets some... ancient rules make her son miserable."

Her temper was dangerously close to exploding and he could tell she wanted to avoid losing her control in front of him again. She stopped, a hand on the door's lock. "If you really... care for him, Christian, you'll leave."

"_Excuse _me?"

"All you are to him is a reminder of his... failings. All you've ever done is cause him pain. You continue to cause him pain. Just when I think he is feeling a little better, that he's getting back to normal, he'll see you and it'll knock him back down and he just goes... blank. I can't bear seeing my son like that," she said quietly. "Anyone who really cared for him, as you claim to, wouldn't wish to hurt him in the way you're hurting him."

"Anyone who really cared for him, as you claim to, would let him be with the person he loved, regardless of the consequences."

"Christian, you forget," she said. "I never forced him to do anything. I would have allowed him to be with you, if he'd really wanted to be."

"At what cost? Losing his family? Losing his faith? His community? Yeah, that seems like a fair deal, Zainab. Really, your even hand and open mind continue to astound me," he said. "He knew if he chose you, that I would let him get on with it, let him live with it. But you never would. The only reason he chose you, _Zainab_, is because he knew I could live with it and you couldn't.

She looked him up and down- the hideous pyjamas, the unkempt hair, the stubble that was verging on a bead at this point, the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles that he swore had gotten considerably deeper in the past few weeks. "Looks like you're really living with it."

"I've never contacted him. I'm letting him move on with his life. You never could have. He would have chosen me, and spent every single day living with your shame, your dirty looks, your... sly comments. He couldn't live like that. He couldn't stand to have you ashamed of him like that," he said. "What do you expect of him? To marry someone he can never love?"

"He will find the right _woman_. He will."

"Really, Zainab. Amira wasn't right enough? She was beautiful and kind and funny..."

"She was also spoiled and selfish and obsessed with money. It's no wonder his eye... wandered."

"This isn't some phase he's just going to get over because you find him a pretty girl. You make him do this, you're going to make him miserable," he said. "I thought all you wanted for him is to be happy."

"Sometimes," she said, "happiness comes at a sacrifice."

He gripped at her arm. "Zainab, you have to understand. You know what it's like, being forced to do something you don't want to do..."

She pulled her arm away and took a couple of steps backwards. "Exactly. And I did it _anyway_."

"And did it make you happy? Is this what you want for your son?"

"Kamil is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I don't regret him for a second."

"I believe you. But if you'd had a choice..."

"I didn't," she said. Her voice dropped into a lower register, "And neither does Syed. I... I cannot let my son go to hell. I can't even contemplate it. This... unhappiness, it will pass with time. It will. And he'll realise that he has done the right thing. Even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

"Are you prepared to take that risk?"

"For my son's soul? Yes," she said. "You really think I'd allow my son to lose everything over... well, over _you_? Look at you, thirty-seven years and what exactly have you got to show for it? I liked you, Christian, so let me give you some _friendly _advice. Pull yourself together. Get out of here, for your own sake. It's doing you no good."

She walked out and it was the last time he'd speak to her her for almost two years. He'd been living in a fishbowl since Syed had walked out of his life. Everything was blurry and indistinct and nothing really meant much. His family, when he'd allowed them in, had tried everything to draw him out of himself. Even Ian had shown some concern, which was when he'd known things were _really _grim. Zainab had thrown him onto dry land, gasping and hurting, but everything was back into sharp focus.

It was typical, frankly, that it would take Zainab to give him the reality check he needed to get back on his feet. He'd basically spent the past month in a largely drunken stupor. When Roxy rang him again, he answered her call. She sounded surprised that he'd even talk to her and in the sober light of day, he felt like a total arsehole. All she'd been doing was trying to help him piece the broken shards of his life back together and he'd treated her like an annoyance. He didn't really fancy going out much, but he felt like he owed her. He was leaving Walford in two weeks.


	8. Chapter 8

_I wrote the vast majority of this in September. I actually wrote the November parts at the same time I wrote Chapter 4._

_I really wanted to get all the November flashbacks out of the way in one go, because well, it __is __November and I like to keep ahead of the game so I don't get too involved in keeping it up to date, which is why it's __ridiculously __long. For context purposes, the first scene in the November flashback is a couple of weeks from now, and the last one is a week after. This is mostly because I didn't want to focus a lot on the blackmail stuff._

_In this story, we're ignoring (horrible, horrible) canon and the (non-existent) wedding's in February. If I put it at 1st January, it'll screw up my_

_February 2012 _

"Morning."

His eyes were still closed, blocking out the world, and a wide smile spread across his face. This was his favourite moment of the day. The moment in between consciousness and unconsciousness, where the worldly concerns of the day hadn't troubled the mind. The only thing in the universe was the two of them. "Morning," he whispered. His eyes opened and the moment ended. He could practically _see _the thoughts of getting up and going to work and facing his mother forming in Syed's mind. The warm feeling in his stomach, the one that really ought to have faded after so long, remained.

It wasn't exactly the most comfortable he'd ever been. His legs were spilling over the edge of the bed, one of Syed's elbows was rather uncomfortably lodged in his ribs, and he was absolutely sweating from being in the confined space. He was fairly confident he and Syed were actually stuck together with perspiration. Yet he had absolutely zero desire to move from that very spot. Though if Syed decided to stop in his attempt to impale him with his elbow, he wouldn't complain.

"What time's it?"

He blindly groped for his phone and slid it up, the brightness hurting his eyes. "Six-thirty. What time is sunrise?"

"Ages yet. One thing to love about winter."

"Good."

Christian pressed his lips against his hair. "How much pain are you in right now?" he asked.

"I think I may need medical attention."

"Worth it, though."

"Yeah."

"I've missed this."

"What? Being crammed into a bed designed for a child?" He looked at Christian's legs dangling over the edge. "A particularly short child."

"Waking up with you."

"I don't know. Being woken up by an eight-year-old who wants to watch _SpongeBob SquarePants _is underrated."

"What about having to stumble about in the dark at 3AM to prove that, no, the radiator is _not _haunted?"

"Kids, eh?"

Christian smiled ruefully. "Yeah."

Syed cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "He's took the news about Jane well."

"He doesn't really understand. Apart from sleeping a bit more, she's the same old Mummy, you know?"

"How's she handling it?"

"You've seen her," Christian said, dismissively.

"Yeah, but really."

"Badly. But better than most, I think. Ian's taking it worse than she is."

"It's easier to be the one in pain to be the one watching the person you love be in pain," Syed said.

"That's true."

"Speaking of pain, I need to get up or I'm going to be _crippled_," Syed said, with a small grin. "Seriously, I'm going to have the bones of an eighty-year-old when we go back to Leeds."

"You'll be useless, then. I need you to be flexible."

"_You're_ going to trade _me_ in for a younger model?"

"Don't tempt me."

Syed leaned down to kiss him. He had to bend his head at an awkward angle to do it and still managed to bang his head off the wooden planks above. "You know, it's not worth concussion."

"Sy, when did you become such a bore?"

He frowned, as if giving it deep thought. "Oh, let's see. I think the rot set in about April 9th 2010?"

"That's funny. That's when I turned into an old fart, too."

"We're so in sync."

xxx

Watching Syed pray and watching the man he was the rest of the time, it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume they were two different people. Christian had always secretly admired the depth of Syed's faith, even when it had been driving them apart. Syed never said anything, but the implication was clear: Their relationship and his faith were like two circles of a Venn diagram that could never interlink. There was an unspoken agreement that Syed didn't bring his faith into their relationship and Christian didn't bring himself into his faith. When two of the things you cared about most in the world contradicted each other, you did your best to keep them separate as much as you could. It was fascinating watching him, though. Though he didn't understand the meaning of the words, he could feel the depth of their meaning echoing as loud as the sound of the words themselves. He could probably have recited the words, he'd heard them so often, even though he had no idea what they actually meant.

"You're doing it again," Syed said without looking at him.

"Does praying to God make you omnipotent?"

"No, I can just _feel _you staring at me. You know it creeps me out."

"Sorry. I just find it relaxing."

He rolled up his prayer mat. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't use watching me pray as your own personal spa. It's like... you're eavesdropping on a private conversation between me and God. And if I'm thinking about my b... if I'm thinking about something else while I'm praying, like watching you out of the corner of my eye, it invalidates the deep spiritual connection I'm supposed to be having. I've told you all this before."

"To eavesdrop, you've got to understand it."

"Still. Don't do it, all right?"

"What do you pray for?" Christian asked.

He looked down at the ground, at the prayer mat rolled up in his hand. "I used to pray for strength."

"To stay away from me?" Syed nodded. "What about now?"

He lifted his head and stared at him a long moment before responding, "Forgiveness for my weakness."

_November 2009_

When he woke up, Syed was fully-dressed, sat on his side of the bed, smiling down at him. Part of him wondered how long he'd been sitting there. "Oh, you're awake. I just wanted to say I need to go."

He curled his hand around Syed's wrist. "Do you have to? It's still dark."

"It's November. We get two hours of sunlight," he pointed out. "Look, we have to be more careful. One person knowing is bad enough, but _anybody _else... well, they might not have such a sense of loyalty."

"Okay."

He grinned. "Plus, after last night, I can't even remember where I'm supposed have been. I have to have time to think of something if Mum's been checking up on us."

Christian didn't smile back. "Maybe if you didn't lie so much."

Syed's face grew serious and he pulled his arm out of Christian's reach, standing up. "I haven't exactly got much choice, have I?"

"Oh, don't try that."

"What am I supposed to say to my _pregnant _mother? That I'm sneaking off to see you? Yeah, that wouldn't upset anyone," he said. "Look, my parents are still on shaky ground..."

Christian put his hands up, a surrender. "Right. Just go, all right?"

"I'll come back tonight..."

"Don't bother," he interrupted.

"Christian, you said..."

"I know, I know. I thought that I could be okay with sharing you. But I can't. I keep thinking having you like this is better than not having you at all, but at times like this, it makes me wonder," he said. "How would it make you feel if after every time we slept together, I ran off back to my family, ashamed of you?"

He pressed his lips together and was silent for a few moments. "I'm notashamed of _you" _he said, quietly.

"Of yourself, though? Isn't it the same thing? Being ashamed of being gay and being ashamed of being with me are the same thing."

"Don't," Syed pleaded.

"I'm right, though, aren't I? I mean, you're always going to be ashamed. Being with me is never going to be enough for you. You're always going to need to have the fiancée to make you _look _'normal'. The only reason you can be with me is because nobody you care about knows."

"_You _know, if things were different..."

"But they're _not_. Things are just like this. At some point... you've got to make a choice. And I know you're not going to choose me."

"It's not that simple."

"Of course not. Nothing's ever simple, is it?"

"I just... I don't know why you want to complicate it more."

"You just expect me to lie to everyone I care about," Christian said.

"I can't _expect _you to do..."

"Right, so I'll just go tell Jane, shall I? No, Ian. I'll tell Ian, he's always good at keeping secrets..." Christian scoffed. "Maybe I'll encourage Lucy to spread it far and wide. You should see the look on your face, Syed, and you _know _I'm being sarcastic. That look on your face.. you have no idea how much it hurts to see it. You'd think I was telling your mother you killed kittens for the fun of it, not we're together."

"It's on the same level for her. I think she'd rather I killed kittens. At least that way she could still get grandchildren out of me... so long as Amira never bought a cat," he said. "It's not about you and me. It's not just about the shame. It'll break my mum's heart. I can't do that to her. Especially now. I'm sorry."

"Being in limbo, all the time, not knowing what's going to happen next..." He saw the look of identification cross Syed's face, followed by something that looked vaguely like guilt. "Not knowing whether we're going to be together next week, or the week after, or next year. It drives me _mad_, only being half-with you."

"You can't ask me to sacrifice my family." His voice cracked, "It's not fair."

"I'm not asking you to do anything, Sy. Even if I wanted to, I _can't_, it's not my place," he said. "I'm just telling you how it feels."

"What am I _supposed_ to do?"

"Well, that," he said, "is up to you."

Syed shoved his arms through his coat with unnecessary force. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said, before storming out, slamming the door behind him.

xxx

At last count, he'd been blabbering on for six minutes. Christian hadn't interrupted him once or pointed out the many various holes in his logic, because watching him ramble on, barely making sense, was adorable. It was a good thing he was caught up in himself, because it would have been obvious to anyone who was paying attention that Christian wasn't. He knew what Syed was trying to say, and knew he should have been trying to take it seriously, but it was difficult when Syed was clearly lying through his teeth and didn't mean a single word of it. He wanted to marry Amira as much as he wanted to tell his family he was gay. Unfortunately, one was much preferable to said family than the other.

"...I've got to make this work. And splitting myself in half isn't going to achieve that."

Christian shrugged and took a sip of tea. "Okay."

Syed frowned. "'_Okay_'?"

"What? Were you expecting me to break down and cry?" he asked, grinning like being sad was the last thing on his mind. "'Cause if that's your thing..."

It was amusing to watch Syed trying to fight down the frustration he was feeling at Christian's nonchalance. He was hurt that Christian _wasn't_, but he was trying to hide it, because he couldn't exactly get angry at the lack of reaction. After all, he should be pleased that he was causing the minimum pain possible, but it was obvious he was hoping for Christian to be heartbroken, so he would have an excuse not to go through with it. "No, actually, I was expecting you to have a go at me for being a liar."

"Well, prepare to be disappointed," he said. He looked up at Syed. "Look, at the end of the day, you're going to do it anyway, regardless of what I say."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I am." He sounded exactly one-hundred percent less sure of himself than he wanted to appear.

"That's what I mean," Christian said. "So, what's the point?"

"You never miss the opportunity to get on your high horse. So, what is it?"

"Why do you care?" he asked.

"Curious." Syed lied a lot; it was amazing that he was still so bad at it. Either that, or Christian knew him so well now that even the best-crafted lie didn't get past him these days. But he was fairly sure that Syed was just a bad liar, most of the time.

"Right. And I was always there to satisfy your... _curiosity_, wasn't I?" he said, rolling his eyes. "Syed, there's no point going on about it, is there? You never listen, anyway. You just do whatever the hell you want, regardless of what anyone tells you. So. I'm not going to waste my breath."

Syed stared at him for a couple of moments, before scoffing. "Do whatever the hell I want," he repeated, incredulously. "Yeah, _that _sounds like my life."

"Really. See, that's the thing. You don't have _a _life. You have two. You have the option. You can just skip between them when it suits you. If you feel like playing Good Muslim Boy, you've got a family to go to, and Amira to worship you. If you're feel like playing at Syed, well, I'm always here to hold your hand and kiss it better, aren't I? I don't have that option. I'm just stuck here in this one, with or without you depending on your whim."

"Don't make out like this has been easy for me."

"I know it's been hard for you, God, do I," he replied, his voice softening. "But there's _got_ to be a point where someone says shit or get off the pot."

"That's what I'm doing now," he murmured.

"Looks like. So, which are you doing?"

"Stop messing about. Whatever you want to say, just say it."

He took a deep breath before answering. "Fine. I want to ask how long you're going to hold out this time."

"What do you mean?"

Christian rolled his eyes and laughed. "Oh, you know exactly what I mean. How many times have I heard you say this time it's it and _you mean it_. Until you catch me in a good light, or you've got a bit of a headache that weakens your resolve. Then it all starts up again until the next time you decide it's your moral duty to hurt me. You know, it's my fault for letting you get away with this crap. Because all you have to do is snap your fingers and I'll come _running _as fast as I can."

"Christian..."

He laughed, mirthlessly. "The thing is, though, next time you snap, I'll come running again. And I know it. Because I'm not strong enough to stay away from you. I'd last a good week and a half before I broke down and begged you to take me back. What I feel for you, I can't ignore it. It's always there, _always_. And it's getting stronger every day..."

"Stop."

"Something always pulls us back together. Always."

"That's why you're not angry," he said, realisation dawning on his face. "Because you think it's not going to last, that I'm going to fold."

"No, Sy, I _know_ it's not going to last," he replied. "If more than two of us actually knew about this, I'd have a betting pool going. Actually, me and Lucy could..."

Mentioning Lucy around Syed was never a good idea. Even a good-humoured Syed would turn at the mention of her, never mind the confused, frustrated one that stood before him now. "Well, it is," he snapped. "I'm getting married in three months and... it's not fair. On anyone. Amira needs my full attention. And I can't give it to her while I'm... here."

"Fair enough," Christian said evenly.

The lack of reaction flustered him. Christian wished he could say with a clear conscience that he wasn't getting some pleasure out of winding him up. "I... Christian, I mean it," Syed said, and he couldn't have sounded any less sincere if he'd tried.

Christian smiled patronisingly. "Of course you do."

Syed's hands curl into fists. "You know, I could _actually _kill you sometimes. I'm trying to do the right thing and you're just taking the..."

Christian looked at his clenched fists, his gritted teeth. "You know why you're getting so angry? Because you know I'm right."

"You're _not_. I'm doing the right thing, like I said. Even if it's not necessarily going to make me ecstatic at first, making my family happy, it's more important, it's..."

"Okay," Christian interrupted, sensing another meaningless, long rant coming on.

Syed was staring at him. His body was a stiff as a board, tension screaming out of every muscle in his body. Christian wanted to tell him to relax, but it would probably have the opposite effect to the one he'd intended. "I need to get out of here," Syed muttered to himself.

"Then go." He gestured to the door.

"I'm going." He didn't move a square inch.

"Oh, moving like the wind, you are," Christian drawled, amused. "You moved so fast, you left and came back and I didn't even notice!"

Syed just stood frozen, his hands still balled tightly together. His nails were digging into his palms so hard, Christian wouldn't have been surprised to see him draw blood.

"Syed."

"What?"

He stepped forward and took Syed's hands between his. They seemed to relax at his touch reflexly, and squeezed back. He let go of his hands and slid his fingers down to his waist, drawing Syed closer to him. When he leaned in to kiss him, Syed's crushed his lips against his. His fingers dug into Christian's side. Their teeth kept grinding together, their noses bumping. They were at the stage now where they were in sync, where they could each predict what the other's next move would be and it was practically choreographed by this point. Tonight, all that had gone out of the window. Syed bit down on his lip, hard. It had been a long time since sex with him had had anything to do with anger and Christian was hurt. Their relationship wasn't like that anymore, or wasn't supposed to be. He didn't want it to be.

Feeling wounded, and wanted to lash out, he drew back from him. "Three minutes," he whispered in his ear. "I'd had you down for at least three days."

He placed his hands on Christian's chest, pushing him away. He was breathing heavily. "Just... stay... away from me, okay?"

Christian's eyes dropped deliberately downwards. He smirked. "Right, so, you're not sending mixed signals?"

Syed went scarlet. His frustration was replaced with embarrassment. "This signal seems pretty clear." He tore himself away and nearly tripped over in his urgency to get away from him.

The silence in the kitchen almost seemed to be a presence of its own. It held a weight heavier felt more than most conversations. Christian was normally whistling or humming or something if he wasn't talking. He couldn't be quiet for more than five seconds at a time, so the fact that he'd made no noise since the perfunctory greeting this morning was unsettling. Syed could _feel _him looking at him, though, every time he wasn't looking back.

Syed was doing the opposite, trying not to look at him. There was still a mark on his bottom lip, though it had faded and was undistinguishable. Yesterday, it had been obvious enough to draw Zainab's attention. _"Trust me when I tell you you don't want to know,"_ Christian had said. Zainab had backed off the subject, but had made her disgust evident. Christian had looked at him, pity lingering subtly behind his eyes.

Eventually, the silence got to a point where he had to say something, and he blurted out, "Why are you staring at me?"

"Your irresistible good looks?" Syed looked at him witheringly. "You cut your hair."

He touched his head self-consciously "Oh. Yeah. Hope I'm not Samson, otherwise I'll be no good at lifting those boxes later."

"Samson?"

"You know, Samson and Delilah, she cut his hair and... okay, when the Muslim has more biblical knowledge than you, you know you're a bad Christian." He groaned. "Okay, I _swear_ that wasn't supposed to sound like a stupid joke."

Christian smiled. It seemed genuine enough, and Syed felt immediately better. "Why'd you cut it?"

"Why does anyone cut their hair? It was too long," he said. "Amira hates it. Mum loves it."

"Well, that's a good sign. Your _mum _likes it and your fiancée..." He winced, not completing his sentence "Doesn't your mother tell Tamwar how to style his hair? Don't get me wrong, I like Tamwar but his hair..."

"You don't like it then."

"It's... neater. I just liked it better before."

"It kept getting in my eyes. It..."

"It reminded you of me?" he said quietly.

He averted his eyes, trying not to think of . "Mum's on the warpath, so if you like your head attached to your shoulders, we'd better get on with it."

"Okay."

"It's mostly a lot of chopping. Our arms are going to be aching by the end of the day, I bet. It's a big event, so it's to be expected. Oh, and there's about a million potatoes to peel, but I'll do that. Spare you the horror. Mum should be in soon, anyway."

Christian looked around, as if he hadn't noticed Zainab's absence before. "Where is your mum, anyway?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Probably shouting at some kids for dropping litter or something."

"She's on edge then?"

He felt like reminding him of yesterday, but thought better of it. "That's the understatement of the century. The sooner this kid comes, the better. Though she's going to be sleep-deprived and overworked. I think I'm going to move to Siberia. Then again, she'd just hunt me down and rip me a new one... I'm stuck, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I think you are."

Syed looked at him, wishing he wouldn't speak to him in that soft understanding tone that made his stomach clench up. "Anyway. We can do all this until Mum decides her business is more important than whatever's gotten her back up. You know what Mum's like when she goes off on one. She..."

Christian threw down the knife he was holding. "Syed, will you _stop_?" he pleaded.

"Sorry, I know I'm going on, but she's doing my head in..."

"No, I don't mean that. I mean pretending everything's okay with us. Just... pack it in, all right?"

"I didn't realise you'd_ prefer _awkward silence. I can only apologise..."

"I wouldn't."

"So, what's the problem?"

"We could actually talk about it. But that would involve _talking_ about it, so it's out of the question."

"I said everything I wanted to say. Nothing's changed in thirty-six hours. I'm marrying Amira. You don't want me to marry Amira. I can't make you both happy, so I had to choose."

Christian didn't respond. Syed thought he'd closed the lines of communication and went to start working again, when Christian spoke, "Isn't getting married supposed to make _you _happy?"

He turned on his heel and found that Christian was intently chopping something. "What?"

His shoulders lifted. "It's just... it's funny. Whenever you talk about getting married, you'll say 'oh, it'll make Amira so happy' 'Amira'll like that'. When you talk about the wedding, Amira lights up like a tree on Christmas Day. When _she _talks about the wedding, you look like... a Death Row inmate who's accepted the inevitable."

"Okay, for one, that is the worst impression of me I've ever heard. And second... of course I'm nervous but..."

Christian just snorted, still not turning to face him. "Most blokes getting married are _nervous_, but excited. Every time Amira mentions the wedding, you go white. That's not a normal reaction, Sy."

"I am not having this conversation. You know that..." He trailed off, hearing footsteps behind him. "Mum. How are you feeling?"

"Your father deliberately tries to annoy me, I swear it."

"It doesn't exactly take much these days, does it?" Syed muttered.

Her ears pricked up, sensing something else she could rant about. It was like Spider Sense, except instead of saving lives, it made you want to kill yourself. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, his voice high-pitched. To take the attention away from his mutterings, he asked, "What's he been doing now?"

She started on her, at last count, third tirade of the day. It was only nine o'clock. He was trying to hear what she was saying, but Christian's gaze was boring into the back of his skull. It was always hard to concentrate when he was around.

Watching Syed playing at doting husband-to-be had to be about the most sickening thing he'd ever seen. The way Amira looked at Syed, her eyes full of adoration made Christian feel guilty as hell, as well. It was exactly two months to go until the wedding and as if the clock wasn't ticking loudly enough, they apparently had to have nights out to mark the event. Amira had invited him, and it would have looked strange not to have gone. It was ridiculous he still felt compelled to torture himself to protect Syed, when there was nothing to hide, technically speaking. Suffice to say, he'd drank more than his fair share. In fact, he'd drank so much, _Roxy _had urged him to slow down. He'd just told her he was putting the Vic back in the black himself, and she'd just rolled her eyes and handed him another. She'd looked at him with concern and asked what was wrong. He'd ignored her, but only because he was sure the truth would spill over if he opened his mouth. Glancing over at the table, where Amira was whispering in Syed's ear, he decided he needed some fresh air.

He leaned back against the wall of the Vic and watched the empty Square swim before his eyes. "What was _that_ all about?" Syed asked. He was _fairly _confident that there was only one Syed, but his eyes were deceiving him.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking how _cute _and _sweet _and _completely _and _totally _real this is. Gag me with a spoon."

Syed eyes him warily. "How much have you had?"

He seemed to give the matter deep consideration. "Since I'm still conscious...not enough. Why, are you _concerned_?"

When Christian stumbled, Syed unconsciously reached out an arm to steady him. He withdrew it as if the contact burned him. "I think you should go home," he said.

"Since when are you the boss of me?" His lips curved into a smirk. At least, he hoped it was a smirk. It probably looked like his face was contorting. "Though you always liked to take control when we..."

Syed went still. "Shut up," he hissed, looking at the Vic's door behind him. "Right now."

Christian laughed. It sounded mocking, hollow. "Or what? What can you possibly do to me that's worse than what you've already done?"

"Stop it." It was supposed to come out angry, he supposed, but it sounded more pleading.

"Stop me."

Christian stepped forward and when their lips were nearly touching, Syed turned away abruptly. His breath was coming in dogged little pants and he was practically shaking with the effort it took to turn away. Christian snorted and took a long swig out of his bottle, forgetting it was empty. "The thing is... about you and me, there is always gonna _be _a you and me."

"There isn't one right now..."

"Please. You can lie to everyone, feed yourself whatever pretty little lie suits you, but there is _no _point in lying to me. I see straight through you. Which is ironic..."

"Why am I even here?" Syed muttered to himself. Christian noted that he made exactly no attempt to go back inside.

Christian cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, why _are _you here?"

"Christian..."

"I understand that you're scared of your family finding out. Amira finding out. What your community thinks," he said. "But why do you fight me so hard? We're amazing together."

"No, we're actually not. For one thing, 'together' is not a word I'd particularly prescribe to us. For another, unless the dictionary definition of 'amazing' has changed to 'horrible, miserable and near-constant arguing and breaking-up every other week', then it really isn't amazing, either."

"Funny, how you're using the present tense. A therapist'd have field day with what that meant," he said. "When's the last time you had a fight like that with Amira? Hmm. I'm not talking tiffs here."

Syed laughed, incredulously. By the looks of him, he was probably pleased to have been fielded a question that he could answer easily. "What sort of question is _that_? Of course we don't!"

"No, because you don't have that sort of passion for her. Even if she... _God forbid_... cheated on you, I can picture you coming home and seeing it, and going 'meh, getting mad would take too much effort' and then watching the telly."

"Don't be so ridiculous."

"It's true. The only time you ever get angry with her is when she insults your family. And let's be honest, if a stranger on the street insulted your family, you'd get angry at them, as well. So that's pretty much meaningless."

"She's a good fiancée. I don't have any _reason_ to get angry with her. If you're trying to say that fighting is the key to a perfect partnership, then maybe you and my mum should stop fooling yourselves and get on with it."

"Not everyone gets to have what we have, Sy."

"Good thing, as well, otherwise humanity would die out."

"I _mean_... I... can't remember what I was saying. But it was good, honest."

"I think you should go home and sober up, don't you?"

He snapped his fingers as he remembered, startling Syed. "That's it! Look, you'll only ever be happy with a man, Syed. It's just the way it is and I feel badly for you, I do. But avoiding this isn't just stupid and going to hurt everyone around you and it's _pointless _andputting yourself through misery to make yourself miserable is just the most backward thing I've ever heard."

"You don't understand. You never did. And you never _will_."

"Oh, I understand perfectly. You think when I realised I was gay, I went 'yipee! I like men! Isn't that _fabulous_?'"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah. Not so much. I mean, I wasn't devastated or anything and it didn't take me long to admit it, but... I just thought, 'why can't I be _normal_?' I hate that word now, but that's what I thought at the time. Except I was sixteen and I thought I was on my own. I didn't know anyone who was gay. I mean, James was, but I didn't know that then. I didn't have anyone to turn to. I spent a while trying to make myself straight. Then I told Lesl... Jane... I told Jane that I was gay. And you know what she said?" He paused, as if waiting for an answer and Syed shook his head. "'Yeah, I know. What did you want to tell me?' And... that moment... that's when I realised I'd been making a much bigger deal out of it in my head than it actually was."

"But your family isn't my family. It's probably a _bigger _deal than I've let myself believe. My mum would... look how she reacted when you told someone she doesn't even like you were gay. If she got the slightest inkling I was... she'd ship me off to one of those 'correction' programmes."

"I didn't speak to my mum for twenty years after I came out... I know how it feels. Being rejected by your own mother for being yourself..."

"This is encouraging me to be honest, how exactly?"

"Because there are worse things. Living your life as a lie, for example. Being miserable. Being married to someone you don't love." Christian watched how each one hit him and how Syed was trying to not show how close to home they hit. "Feeling trapped. Feeling alone. Not being with the person you _actually_ lo..."

"Do you have to make this so hard?"

_"I_ didn't follow _you _out here," Christian called after him. "If I remember correctly, I was making things simple by getting away from you. You know, I'm still going to, make things easier."

"Christian..." he shouted.

xxx

He didn't really know what happened, then. He must have turned too fast, or something, and fell flat on his face because the next thing he remembered was being in the back of a taxi with Syed shoving some sort of material over his face and _excruciating _pain in the middle of his face. "What happened?"

"You fell."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I think your nose is broken. It's swollen, bloody mess, anyway."

He tugged at the material over his nose. "What's this?"

"My jumper. Couldn't find anything else to stem the flow of the bleeding in time."

He tugged at it, noticing it was covered in blood. "It's ruined."

"What a tragedy," Syed drawled. "I hate it, anyway. Mum loves it. It's an excuse to throw it out."

"Oh, good." he sighed, relieved. "You _do _have some taste. It is pretty hideous."

"Yeah, you told me. Four times. You and Amira had a good laugh at my expense."

"I did?"

"Uh-huh. Your exact wording was 'it looked like it had been knitted by blind nuns with no taste'."

"Just thank God it was the only thing I was honest about tonight, eh?"

Syed looked at the driver, who was focusing on the road. "Yeah." He paused. "How much does it hurt?"

"On a scale of one to ten? An eight."

"I think, on a scale of one to ten, your ego's going to go from twenty-eight to eighteen when you see yourself."

"I think you underestimate the size of my ego."

xxx

They'd been waiting ninety minutes when it was finally his turn. He was pleased, if they'd played one more game of 'I spy' to take his mind off the pain, he was going to get himself committed to the psych ward. The doctor was rushed and clearly had better things to do than take care of drunken idiots who'd fallen over their own stupidity.

"Did you hit your head?"

Wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, he just said no. If it had been up to him, they wouldn't be here at all. He probably had, because he couldn't remember anything, but it wasn't like there was any lasting damage.

He shone a light into his eyes. "Pupil's dilating fine," he murmured. "Any confusion?"

"No more than usual." He was aware of slurring his words a bit, and the doctor turned away from him, slightly irritated.

"Are you his partner?"

Christian just looked at the doctor disbelievingly, tutting and opened his mouth to say a very definite 'no', when Syed said pretty much the only thing in the universe that would shut him up, "Yes."

Christian turned to him, frowning. Syed just shrugged, his face impenetrable.

"Did he hit his head?" the doctor asked.

Christian shook his head almost imperceptibly at Syed. The last thing he wanted to do was spend his Friday night in a hospital bed. "I didn't see. I just saw him fall."

"Was he unconscious at any point?"

"Nope."

"Has he vomited?"

"No."

"Well, I cannot see any signs of a concussion. The nose isn't broken, it's just badly bruised. Make no mistake, it's gonna be plenty painful, but I imagine he'll want more painkillers for the hangover than his nose. Is there any particular reason you were..." He glanced down at his chart, "three times over the legal limit?"

"Walford is dull?"

The doctor smiled. "I'll be back with your prescription. Then you're free to go. You'll probably need to get this for him in the morning."

Syed nodded. "That's no problem."

Christian watched the doctor leave. "So, what? A couple of hours ago, you were telling me to stay out of your life and I'm your _partner _now?"

He shrugged. "They don't tell anything to anyone unrelated. You're not going to be any fit state to pick up your own prescription."

"I'm sure the secrets of a bruised nose are highly guarded."

"What were you thinking? Seriously, if you'd fallen a couple of centimetres to the left, you could be lying in a coma right now."

"Being a bit overdramatic, aren't we?" he asked.

"I mean it, Christian. You can't... you can't _do this_."

"Do _what_?"

"Be so... reckless and idiotic! You're not some stupid teenager. Pressing the self-destruct button isn't going to help anything. Drinking and... and God knows what else you get up to that I don't need to know about, it isn't going to help anything," he said, then added quietly, "Because nothing can."

"I know," he said. "Syed, I hate this."

"Me too."

"Ah, looks like we've gotten to the self-pity stage of drunkenness. Great. After the actually being happy portion of the evening, this is my very favourite."

"I wouldn't know."

"Oh, _joy_. The god-fearing boy has come out to play tonight, hasn't he? If you're going to be so dull, you might as well just leave."

"So, this is fun? A&E on a Friday night? Waking up not knowing where you were the night before? Waking up in strang..."

"What else am I supposed to do? This is me. This is what I am."

"But it's _not. _I know it's not."

"You never spent that much time getting to know me, though, did you? Did you ever listen to the stories Jane told? I was never a choir boy."

"I... gathered. But that... that isn't the real you."

He turned away. "I can't say I didn't ask for this, though. Knew what I was signing up for. Closet cases, not good. Already involved with someone, not good. Muslim, not good. Crazy overprotective mother, not good. You must've been the worst person in Walford I could've possibly gone for."

"Well, you can't say you don't know how to pick'em."

Christian smiled. It faded quickly. "Shit. That really hurt. This is now a joke-free zone."

Syed squinted at the disjointed mess that had once been Christian's nose. "_That_ is going to hurt like hell in the morning."

"It hurts like hell _now _with all the alcohol and painkillers numbing it. I don't even want to imagine tomorrow."

Syed was staring at him and Christian was fairly sure their faces were getting closer together. He didn't even care that this was going to hurt like all hell out, it was more than worth it. Then he felt something burning up his throat and heard himself announce, rather loudly, "I need to vomit."

Syed turned away as he vomited into the bin. "Lovely."

"Well, that ruined the moment."

Christian felt Syed's fingers stroking his back. "It's okay."

Christian turned around to face him and Syed was a second too late to put his defences back up, all he could see in his eyes was concern and something that he recognised too well, because he'd felt it himself I long time.

Then the door clattered open and Christian saw Syed close himself off. "Sorry I was so long. They must be putting something in the alcohol tonight. There you go. It's going to hurt in the morning, and I've given him the strongest painkiller I could. Just keep an eye on him, eh? If it starts bleeding again, and it persists for more than twenty minutes, bring him back down to get checked over. It shouldn't, but you never know."

"I am sitting here, you know."

"Yes. If nothing else, it's taught you the evils of alcohol."

"Doc, is that mercy killing thing available on the NHS yet? Because I think I'm going to need it in the morning."

"'Fraid not."

"How much would I have to pay you to kill me _illegally_?"

"When the stocks closed last night, the price of a human life was around seven million pounds."

"Can I give you a fiver now and the rest later?"

"Sure. Good night, Mr. Clarke."

"Come on, let's go. I'm sure I'll have to face the wrath of Amira in the morning."

"In the morning?" Christian repeated.

"You heard the doctor. Have to watch you, don't I?"

"It's a busted nose, not terminal cancer."

"You could have concussion or anything. You hit your face pretty hard," he said. "I shouldn't've lied, you know. You could have a brain injury or anything."

"Wouldn't make much difference, would it?" he said. "Anyway, an improvement, don't you think?"

"Well, it takes the attention away from your gob for about five seconds so I'd say a definite improvement."

"Yes! Some blokes are into scars. You know, black eyes."

"Yeah, you looked really gorgeous with half a face."

"It was my best look."

"Just going to ring Amira. She'll think I've died or something. Yep, twenty missed calls is our signal for 'fatal danger'."

"Syed?" Her voice was high-pitched, concern piercing every syllable. "Where the hell are you?"

"At the hospital..."

"Oh my God, I knew it, are you okay?"

"Wouldn't be ringing if I wasn't, would I? No, Christian's had a bad fall."

"You couldn't have rang me and told me? Or come in the Vic and told me before you took him?"

"Sorry, it looked a lot worse than it was. I panicked."

She sighed, relieved. "I'm just glad you're okay. You had us all worried there, you know! We thought you'd done a runner.

"Well, good news for you, I'm better than okay, I'm brilliant. So, you can be even gladder... is that a word?"

"I think so."

"Look, Christian's in a bit of a state and he might be concussed, so I'm just going to stay the night and keep an eye."

Amira was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. "Seriously, you are such a lovely person. Christian's lucky to have a friend like you."

"Yeah."

"Well, see you in the morning," she said brightly. "Have fun playing doctors and nurses."

"Will do. See you."

"Love you."

"Me too."

When he looked around, Christian was vomiting into a bush.

"Christian?" he called. "Are you trying to be funny and failing miserably or genuinely vomiting?"

"A bit of both."

"Fair enough."

"Syed. Thanks for coming tonight. I'm pleased you did."

"I couldn't not."

"I hate you and your double negatives. I never have a clue what you're on about."

"I could hardly abandon you in the middle of the Square. People would have assumed you were a really well-dressed hobo."

"Rather than a well-dressed homo."

"How drunk _are _you?"

"Not so much anymore. Concussion tends to knock the drunkenness out of you."

"Shhh, you don't have concussion, remember?" Syed pointed to a couple getting out of a cab. "Before we get in, do you need to throw up?"

"Oh, talk dirty to me," he said, as they started walking quickly towards the taxi before it could pull away.

"Seriously, I don't fancy paying double fare because you decide to chuck up all over the back seat."

"I'm fine. Plus, they've got these things called windows now. They roll down and everything," he said. "And if I did chuck up, I'd hardly _decide _to. Though vomit could only _improve _what you're wearing. Who dressed you, anyway, your mum?" Syed averted his eyes. "Oh, she didn't."

"She _recommended_..."

"How did Amira let you out of the house like that?"

"Under great duress. Come on," he said. He peeked through the window at the taxi driver, who looked at Christian, slightly amused. "Is it okay for us to get in?"

"Sure. Where're you going?"

"Walford. Albert Square."

"What happened to you? You fall in a blender?"

"Something like that."

Christian was still unsteady on his feet, Syed's arm was around his waist, stabilising him. "I really think you should have stayed in hospital, you know."

"You worry too much. I've had much worse than this, remember?"

"Right. Still, you can barely stand."

"That's not a head injury, that's drunkenness. "

"You've sobered up."

"Eh. Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to have your arms around me."

"Right, that's why your eyes can't focus probably."

"They can focus fine, I just don't want to look at you. There's a difference," he said. As they entered the flat, he shrugged off Syed's arm. "You can let go of me now."

Syed withdrew the contact. "If you want me to go, I'll go."

Christian sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I never _want_ you to go."

"If it's going to make things more painful for you, or..."

"This is what it comes down, to, Sy: I love you. Do you love me?"

"Christian, let's not do this. It's pointless."

"Sy."

"I... you know how I feel."

"It'd be nice to hear it, though," he said. "Do you?"

Syed didn't respond. Christian leaned forward; Syed reared back. "No offence or anything, but you stink."

"Forgot about that," he murmured to himself, breathing onto his hand and grimacing. "That's pretty rank."

Syed smiled. "_Pretty _rank? Just go to bed, okay? You need anything, I'll be ten feet away."

He indicated his bed with a tilt of his head. "You could be no feet away."

He wrinkled up his nose. "As tempting as that currently is, I'll pass. I'm right there, though. When you wake up in the morning..."

"...everything will be ten times worse," he finished. "'Night, Syed."

"Good night."

xxx

Christian came out of the bathroom, knowing he looked like death warmed up. He'd tried to avoid looking in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, but he hadn't been able to resist the temptation. His nose looked less like a nose than it did a bundle of tissue that had been randomly assigned and then placed in the centre of his face. He couldn't even distinguish his nostrils. Not to mention he generally looked like hell, anyway, with his hair being a complete mess and his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. He'd be lucky to attract flies, never mind a man. Then he remembered. He'd stumbled blindly in the dark to go to the bathroom and had seen a vague shape on the couch but had thought nothing of it.

"Oh, it's alive," Syed announced. Christian's head pounded in protest.

He hushed him and made the universal gesture for 'I'm hungover, keep it down or I'll have to murder you'. "Okay, I know we've had our issues. But I thought you cared about me."

Syed's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just... why didn't you stop me from having a cage fight with Mo Harris?"

Syed laughed, relieved and shot Christian a half-hearted disdained look. "You insisted."

"So, tell it to me straight: what did I do? Except breaking my nose? Do I even want to know?"

"Nothing much. And you didn't break your nose."

"Saying I've broken my nose, it sounds more sympathy-inducing than 'severe bruising'," he said. "Last night is just a big blur. I didn't say anything stupid, did I?"

Syed looked him straight in the face, opened his mouth to speak and then changed his mind. "No. You didn't say a thing."

"Oh, good."

"Yeah, good," he whispered to himself. "Are you okay?"

"Apart from the banging headache, the fact that my nose is actually moving of its own accord right now and, probably, a bruised ego? Fine."

"I need to go, that's all."

"What excuse are you using this time?"

Syed smiled. "No excuses. They know exactly where I'm at and what I'm doing," he said. "How bizarre."

"You were playing nurse, then."

"Yeah. I didn't want to... I couldn't leave you alone in that state."

"That all?" Christian pressed.

"Yeah, actually."

"Right. So you didn't just _love _the opportunity to spend the night here and actually be able to tell your parents where you were afterwards."

"Christian, I told you..."

"I know what you told me. I was there. I also know what you told me was bullshit."

"It wasn't..."

"Being here and knowing when you get home there'll be no interrogations, no lying, no secrets... it's a great feeling, isn't it?" he said. "It could be like that all the time, Sy, if you could just..."

"No. _No_. I'm not telling them, not ever. I can't hurt them like that. You don't get it, Christian, they... they will never accept it. Not ever. I want... I wish... I wish they would. I wish they _could_. But it just goes against everything they believe in and nothing will change that. If there was the slightest chance they'd understand, that they'd be okay... I'd tell them in a heartbeat. I'm not ashamed of you. But I _know_ this will hurt them so badly and make _them_ so ashamed and I can't do that to them."

"Your parents love you, they..."

"You don't understand our community. It's not about how much they love me. To them, this is wrong and they're _not allowed _to accept it. Literally, if they accept it, it's like they're condoning a sin."

"And what does your religion... your community... think about lying? At the end of the day, Syed, you're still doing 'wrong', you're just _lying _about it. How is that better?"

"It's not. But... I... I don't know what else to do. I want them to be proud of me. And... this... this will never make them proud. Everything good I ever do in my life will be overshadowed by this one part of me I have no control over. I can't live like that. I'd rather live my life as a lie than have every element of my life overshadowed by the truth," he said. "Like I said, I need to go."

"There's one thing I remember. From last night."

Syed froze. "What?"

"I think I flirted with Phil Mitchell. I didn't really fall over, did I? He punched me in the face. I wouldn't blame him."

He nodded, solemnly, visibly relaxing. "I didn't want to tell you. But, yes. It was deeply embarrassing. I wouldn't show my face around the Vic for, oh, six years?"

"Actually, I remember a couple of things from last night. I called someone short a slut. So I probably need to apologise for that. You love me. Oh, and I think I wrote something unflattering about Zainab on the bloke's toilet stall. Sorry about that."

"I never said anything."

"It was heavily implied. What? Did you think it'd be okay, because I wouldn't remember?"

"You were off your head. You were saying that Jack Branning was a king among men."

"What? I hate Jack Branning."

"Exactly. So, alcohol doesn't equal the truth. You said it, I'm not taking it seriously, it's fine..."

"_You_ weren't drunk," Christian pointed out.

"You were upset enough," he exclaimed. "What was I supposed to do, say no and upset you more?"

"Yes! If you didn't mean it," he said. "But you did, didn't you?"

"Christian..."

"It's not a big thing. I knew anyway. It's just... nice to hear it. Sort of, anyway."

"I _really_ need to go."

"See you on Monday."

Syed frowned. "Christian, Mum wants us in this morning. There's a big do this afternoon. Did you forget?"

"Oh, you're _kidding_. Please tell me you're joking."

"Check your phone. No doubt, you'll have the same text I got fifteen minutes ago to say if we weren't there soon, she was stringing us up. See you in... oh, half-an-hour?"

"Surely your mother will let me off..."

"With a hangover and an injury caused by your drunkenness? Good luck with that."

"Syed?"

"What?"

"I _did_ mean it."

"I know," he whispered.

He bent down to kiss him, but Syed put his head down. "What?"

"It'll hurt." Christian looked at him, confused. "Your nose. It'll hurt."

"I'll live," he whispered.


	9. Chapter 9

_This chapter is dedicated to indiefran18 for her birthday. Not just because it's her birthday, but because she's the entire reason that this chapter isn't still three separate 500-word bits in three different documents. So you've got her to thank for an update today! _

_I planned for this to be a really short (by my standards) chapter of about 2000 words. It... didn't quite work out that way. I suck at brevity, apparently._

_February 2012 _

Syed shoved his arms through his coat. He was half-an-hour early, like he had been every morning this week, so his mother couldn't complain about tardiness.

"So, what are you going to say to her about this?"

He frowned. "Going to say to who about what?"

"To your mum. About us living here... _unsupervised_."

"I don't know. Somehow, I don't think Mum would be too thrilled at the prospect of us living in sin."

"Then let's get _married_."

Syed rolled his eyes. "Is everything a joke to you?"

"How long have you known me?" Christian asked.

"I meant living in sin, _literally_."

"Well, you can't literally live in sin. It's not like sin is a real thing. It's not like you can go buy sin down at the Minute Mart."

"Yeah, if you could, you'd have bottled your urine or something and made yourself a millionaire."

"The thing is, we've been 'living in sin', in every sense, for ages."

Syed inspected the soles of his shoes as if they held the mysteries to the universe as he pulled them on. "Not underneath her nose, though. It's totally different, someone doing something and someone doing something where you can see it and all your friends can see it."

"Do you _care_ what everyone thinks?"

"I care what my mum thinks. _Mum _cares what everyone thinks. So, yes, I suppose by some logic, that means I care what everyone thinks."

"If it helps at all, if I was doing a public survey, I think what everyone thinks ranges from 'meh' to mild disgust on Zainab's behalf."

"See, in Mum's eyes, they're seeing devil horns and the burning fires of hell ready to swallow us both whole."

"Sounds fun."

Syed looked up at him. "I'd rather not rub her face in it, the last couple of days we're here. I just..."

"You don't need to explain. But if she finds out some other way..."

"How will she? We kept the big secret for, what, eight months? If we can't keep this secret for two days, we're losing our touch."

"We _are_ out of practice."

Noticing Christian's slightly mournful tone, he said, "I'm hardly going to get nostalgic about the time when we had the ability to deceive everyone we cared about."

"Admittedly, you always were far better at it than me."

Syed winced. "Thanks."

"Sy, it's for the best. I know we said no more secrets, no more lies, but unless she directly asks you "are you living with Christian unsupervised in his old flat?" there's no lying involved, is there?"

"I'm pretty sure we said that a lie of omission was still a lie."

"Look, when you make rules, you can make loopholes. And your mum is hurting enough."

He nodded. "If you say so."

"Oh, shut it, Syed," he said, good-naturedly. "Like you're not relieved to be off the hook."

"Just because I had to stop myself wiping the sweat from my brow... you do realise how terrifying my mother is, right?"

"I have a vague idea."

Syed smiled fondly. "I need to go not-lie to my mother."

"Have fun."

"Will do."

He felt really uncomfortable hiding something from her, now. It had been a long time since he'd kept anything big from anyone he cared about and it had never come _easily. _It didn't help that his mother kept throwing him probing glances whenever he wasn't making eye contact with her. He knew she was building up to something and whatever it was wasn't good, otherwise she'd have come right out with it. His mother was many things, but patient was not one of them. Whatever it was, she'd say soon enough.

"Why are you so happy, Syed?"

It was hardly the question he'd been expecting, especially given that he didn't feel particularly happy, more paranoid and on edge. It was obvious she wasn't enquiring about his emotional state, but it was the prelude to something worse. He regarded her expression before answering. Her face was a blank, and he decided to give an equally neutral response. "I'm not allowed to be happy now?"

She wouldn't look him in the eye. "Of course you are. It's just such a rare sight, I was curious."

He sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Mum, if you've got something to say, just say it.

"Well, okay, but you're going to think I'm losing it. Your father says he thinks he saw you coming out of Christian's old flat. But you're living at the Beales. That's what you told me."

His stomach dropped. "Word travels fast," he murmured.

"Syed, you're not... _cohabiting_ with him, are you?"

He sighed. "I have been for two years, Mum. Hardly breaking news."

"But... on the Square? Under our noses? Where people can _see_?" she shrieked with horror.

"That was always your thing, wasn't it? What other people think?" He sighed. "I don't _care_. I really don't care what Denise Wicks thinks, or-or Bushra or whoever. Let's be honest, most people around here can't judge anyone's love life without being a league-one hypocrite. The only people's opinions I happen to care about are my family's and Christian's. And since you've all made it _perfectly clear _what your opinions are, so I've given up even trying."

"You could at least make an attempt to make people believe you care in the slightest about respecting our beliefs."

"Did you forget your beliefs _are_ my beliefs? And I left London to respect those beliefs. What do you want? Do you want me to _emigrate_? Would that help?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid."

"You don't have to worry about me showing you up much longer. _We _are going home in a couple of days." He knew he sounded like a child, but it was hard to be an adult when you were being treated like you still needed stabilisers on your bike.

"Syed..."

"You can't have it both ways, Mum," he said. "You can't have me here and expect me to be the son you can be proud of. We're a package deal, me and Christian."

"Is that a threat? Are you saying if I don't accept... _this_... then you're not coming back here?"

He covered his face with his hands. "No! No, of course not, Mum. I'll come up whenever you want me to. But... I'm not going to hide who I am. I _tried_ and, well, we all saw how _that _turned out, so probably _not_ for the best."

She reached out to touch his face, but her hand fell short and she let it drop. "Nearly two years..." She faltered. "It was so hard, Syed. Your father didn't..."

"What?"

She looked guilty, but it there was a detachment about it. She was being guilty-by-proxy, because the person she thought should have been guilty was lacking the emotion. "Well, he didn't seem to miss you at all. I'm sure he did, Syed, but he just never _showed _it. I felt like I was all alone, just like last time. But Tamwar... he helped me a lot."

He didn't know why he was surprised. Of course he had. It wasn't like he'd had much choice, being the sole heir of the Masood misery still present in the house. "He did?"

"When he wasn't studying for exams or at university, obviously. He'd look after the baby when I was too tired to stand, or when it was your birthday or Eid... he'd cheer me up by telling me stories about you."

He looked up, a small smile playing on his lips. "The map story?"

It was the first genuine smile he'd seen on her since he'd come back. It had a touch of wryness to it, but it came from a place of affection. "Well, it wouldn't be Syed storytelling hour without the map story, would it?"

"And he was telling me about the time your father took the three of you horse-riding and you'd been watching Westerns..."

"Yeah, jumping on a horse like that looks much less painful on the telly."

She started laughing. It was such a rare sound these days, he couldn't help smiling. "You couldn't walk properly for three days, that I remember."

"Dad called me Clint Eastwood for _months_."

Her laughter died down, and she observed him gravely. "What did we do, Syed?"

"What?"

"We... must have done something _wrong_. Did I mother you too much? Is that what it is?"

"Believe me, Mum, if it was about mothering, Christian would be as straight as a ruler," he said. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's not... anything you've done. It's not anything I've done. It just... is. I wish it could be different. I wish I could be what you want me to be. But it's not and I'm not. We just... we just have to try to get past it."

She looked him straight in the eye. "The thing is," she said, "I don't think I can."

"Could you at least _try_? For me?"

"I _have_ tried. I have thought about it a hundred times, from a hundred different perspectives and I still can't understand it, Syed. I don't know how you could choose him over your faith. Over your home. Over your family. Over _me_."

He looked at her, bewildered. It was hard to deal with anything when it was laid out so bluntly. "I didn't... it wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like? Explain it to me, Syed, because God knows I can't understand it."

"I love you, Mum. So much. But you..." he paused, not sure how to phrase it in a way that wouldn't hurt her feelings, "you always expected me to... you always expected me to be perfect."

"No, I..."

"And if I did something wrong, you'd filter it away and ignore it and still hold me up as this perfect son."

She threw up her hands. "So, basically, you're complaining for forgiving you your wrongs and then complaining because I won't?"

"No, you didn't forgive me my wrongs. You _ignored _them and pretended they didn't exist. Forgiving a wrong and denying it ever existed are two completely different things. I'd know. Until I screwed-up so incredibly badly that you couldn't ignore it anymore and the me that you'd constructed in your mind fell to pieces. That is what you can't forgive me, Mum. Not for 'choosing' Christian over you, but not measuring up to what you expected of me. I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment."

"That is not what this is at all. Regardless of what I believe about homosexuality, Syed, you did wrong. Would you be expecting this sort of treatment if Christian was a woman and you'd had an affair? Would you expect forgiveness so easily?"

"I don't expect anything," he snapped. "The _only _reason I lied was to protect _you_. I knew you couldn't handle it."

"Oh, don't try that, Syed. So you just lied and cheated to everyone because of my intolerance? It makes you sound so noble, doesn't it? Sacrificing your happiness to protect your poor, ignorant mother."

"I didn't mean that at all..."

"Do you mean anything you say, Syed?"

"I didn't want to _hurt _you. That was rather stupid of me, wasn't it? Given how amazingly well you took it. I mean, it wasn't like you said I disgusted you or anything. Oh, _wait_."

"How I took it was inconsequential. You still should have said something. Anything. At the very least, you shouldn't have dragged that poor girl into false promises and a false sense of security."

"Like it would have made the slightest bit of difference. Mum, I did some horrible things but... I thought I was doing them for the right reasons. I wanted to marry Amira to make you happy, to make Dad proud, to... make Tamwar insanely jealous, probably. I was an _idiot_ and by trying not to hurt anyone, I hurt everyone. I wish I'd handled it better but I was messed up. And every time I tried to make things better, I made them worse."

"You should have spoken to someone," she said.

"I did."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, Christian does _not_ count."

"I told Imam Ali. You know what he said?"

She sniffed. "I can guess."

"That I should 'concentrate on my fiancée', and that I'd bring shame on my family, otherwise. What was I supposed to do?"

"_Listen _to him? How long did you 'concentrate on your fiancée' before your eyes went wandering? I'm imagining the amount of time it took to walk from Amira's to Christian's. You didn't even give it a chance, Syed. You didn't even _try _to enjoy your engagement."

"Right, because everyone loves being tied down to someone they'll never love. It's really _fun_."

"Was there a point in your engagement that you weren't involved with Christian in some sense? Really think about it."

"Not... really," he admitted reluctantly.

"So how could you possibly know what it was like to be engaged, if you weren't exclusively involved with her?"

"Mum, I could've been the biggest monk this side of Rome, and I still wouldn't have loved her. I tried so hard to make myself. But I couldn't. It's like the square peg and the circle hole. You can cram and strain and hurt yourself as much as you'd like trying to make it fit, but it never will. Sometimes, maybe, you can fool yourself that it does fit, that it feels right... but there's always that empty gap, where it's not quite right."

"Maybe she just wasn't the right one..."

"You're right. She wasn't."

"The right _woman,"_ she clarified.

"There _is _no right woman. Look, I'm going for a break," he said, walking out of the kitchen.

"You've only been here forty-five minutes," she called after him.

He untied his apron and threw it into his locker. "Yeah, for some reason, I've had enough."

xxx

_March 2010 _

When he walked in the door, his mother leapt to her feet, clearly torn between fury and relief. Something in his face made her sympathetic, because the anger quickly dissolved. _"_I've been looking all over for you, Syed."

He glanced at her. "You needn't have bothered. I am twenty-five."

"Where on earth have you been?" she asked, ignoring him completely. "I've been so worried. You could've rang or _something_."

"I needed to be on my own," he said, flatly.

"You mean, unlike normal, where you're the life and soul of the party in your bedroom?"

"_Properly_ on my own."

"You could have said something," she insisted.

"I _could've," _he replied.

She stared at him. "What is _wrong _with you?"

He rolled his eyes slightly. "You need to ask."

"Stop acting like _you _are the one who is the wronged party in this situation, Syed."

"I know I'm not," he answered.

"I think you need help."

"No kidding."

"I mean _professional help_. It's really not healthy to walk around in this... stupor."

"What else do you expect me to do?" he asked.

"_Something_. Since that incident..." His mother had quite a way with words. Describing a complete emotional breakdown as 'that incident' was so typically her it was almost funny. "I haven't seen you express a single emotion. You're like a zombie."

He just shrugged. "I'm doing everything I did before."

"You're running on autopilot. It's like all the life has gone out of you and I... you're _scaring _me."

"I don't know what you want from me."

"It's not healthy, Syed," she repeated. "The entire family has gone through hell the past few weeks as well, but we're getting on with our lives. Even Amira, she seems to have taken it better than you."

"She's not responsible for everything," he said. "She only has her own pain to deal with. I'm responsible for _everything _that's happened. How am I supposed to process that, Mum? How is some tenner-an-hour shrink asking how I _feel _about everything going to help one bit?"

"I don't _know_. But talking about it with an unbiased professional can't do any harm."

He snorted. "I'm not talking about it with a stranger."

"Then talk to _me_."

"Because you're so understanding, you might just implode from your empathy. I'm going to bed."

"It's 6 o'clock."

"I'm tired."

"What are you going to do? Stare at the walls all night? Because I know you're not sleeping. You're barely eating."

"To _think_, apparently, I need to wallow some more and get in touch with my emotions. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"If you wallow any more, you'll drown in a pool of your own self-pity," she snapped.

She wanted him to react with anger, to yell back at her, he could tell. He just couldn't even gather the energy to. Plus, it wasn't like she was wrong. "'Night, Mum."

She grabbed his arm, hard, to the point of pain. "I do love you."

"I love you too," he said. "That's the problem."

"_Excuse_ me?"

His head snapped up at a sound coming from upstairs. "The baby's crying," he said. "I'll take care of it."

He went to take a step forward, but her hold on him didn't loosen. "You won't. Babies need sympathy and love, which you are apparently incapable of showing at the moment."

"What are you saying? That I can't take care of my own brother?"

"Not in the state you're in, no" she replied.

He pulled his arm out of her grip with more force than necessary. "Fine," he said, walking out of the room.

"No, it's really not, Syed," he heard her whisper before he reached the bottom of the stairs. He felt the familiar thorny barbs of guilt tighten around his stomach.

His mother stood at the door, with a sleeping Kamil in her arms. "I thought you'd like to see him," she said.

"Why? Because I can't _scare _him in his sleep?"

"No, because nobody can look at him without feeling something. Oh, look, your facial muscles are spasming...oh, it's a _smile_."

"Shut up," he said, gently. "Can I hold him?"

"He sleeps like the dead."

"I know. I watch him, sometimes, because I can't. There's something relaxing about it."

"It's watching somebody who is so untainted by the world that does it." She placed him in Syed's arms with great care, then took a step back to watch them. "He looks so much the same as you did as a baby, it's like I've stepped back in time, but I'm still in the present."

"So it's really just vanity to say how gorgeous he is?"

He heard his mum chuckle lightly. "I suppose it is, in a way."

Staring at his brother's face had a calming effect like nothing else did these days. It was the only thing in the universe that made him feel even the slightest bit better. His mother was right, it was impossible to look at him without feeling more at peace with the world. The way that Kamil resembled him, it made him feel, in a way, that he was like a blank slate, except this time, it would all go right. At the very least, it was the closest his mother could get to a second chance at raising _him_, except this time it would go right. The amount of 'boy' things she had bought Kamil was ridiculous. Even his baby mobile was comprised of cars and footballs. In better circumstances, he knew Christian would have found it hilarious. _"Yeah, brilliant idea, Zainab, get him interested in football, because there's such a shortage of fit blokes in that sport_," he would have said. The thought of Christian was still enough to practically knock the breath out of him, it hurt that much.

The pain always took him by surprise, like he was being punched from behind. "Here, Mum, take him."

She was wide-eyed, concerned, as she took the baby in her arms. "What is it?"

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to overcome it through sheer willpower. "It's nothing."

"What is it?" she repeated.

He felt like he could barely catch his breath. "It's _really_ nothing."

"You're thinking about _him_, aren't you?"

He couldn't summon the strength to deny it.

To his surprise, she didn't go mental and scream at him for daring to have a thought about him, she just sighed, put-upon. "I'll be back in a minute. Just going to put him down."

He was pleased, it gave him two minutes to regain his sanity. His mum was right, his behaviour wasn't healthy, but shoving everything down and not feeling it was the only way he could _function_. If his thoughts turned to Christian, then they turned to his face as he ended things forever, then they turned to Amira and the way she'd looked at him as if he'd ruined her life and then to his mother staring at him as if she'd never been so disgusted in her entire life. Except then he'd think of the way he and Christian could have entire conversations without saying a word, and how he could make him feel so happy. He just couldn't reconcile the way Christian used to look at him, with his mother's disgust, no matter how hard he tried. On a logical level, he could understand, but on an emotional level, he was completely lost. He didn't understand how feeling that way about anyone could ever be wrong. But it was, so he just had to accept it. It was the accepting it part that was coming hard. He could think about it forever, but it was the thought of coming to a point of acceptance that really hurt him.

His mother came back into the room, looking sombre. "I need to tell you something, but you have to promise me that it won't make you angry."

He felt like saying, 'good luck making me feel anything except _this_', but he just said, "Okay."

"I went to Christian's earlier."

"_What_?"

"You promised," she said warningly.

"That wasn't anger, that was surprise. What... why... how... _why_?"

"Because," she said, "I thought that was where you'd be."

"But I _promised_ I wouldn't see him anymore."

"Yes, well, you haven't proven yourself the most trustworthy person in regards to him."

He couldn't believe that his mother had seen the way he'd acted over the past few weeks and still believed that he could be secretly seeing Christian. He felt his anger rising, but pushed it back down, knowing it would get him nowhere. "How was he?" he asked, not even attempting to sound like a reasonable person.

"He's fine," she said. "He's absolutely fine."

"But I saw him a couple of weeks ago..." He saw his mother open her mouth. "I _saw _him by mistake... I ran in the other direction. Don't worry, we didn't _converse_. He was a mess."

She shrugged. "He's pulled himself around. I mean, he's hardly going to be winning any Happiest Man of the Year contests any time soon, but he's coping. Unlike some people."

"But I..."

"Like I said before, _everyone _else is moving on better than you are. I didn't want to bring him up, because I knew it would upset you. But, Syed, you really need to pull yourself together."

He had imagined Christian being in the same position as him. Worse, even, because, thanks to him, he no longer had a job to distract him from his misery and he had the means to alcohol. He looked at his mother searchingly and she looked straight back. The only thing in her eyes was sympathy and discomfort with talking about her son's gay ex-lover. She wasn't lying. It made his behaviour seem _ridiculous_, when even Christian and Amira were taking it better than he had. He wasn't the _victim _of this, he was the cause. He had no right to wallow in self-pity and guilt, he should be trying to make it right.

_February 2012 _

Of course, he'd soon learned she _had _been lying, but it had been for the greater good. He _had _pulled himself together and managed to start getting on with his life, not just getting up on a morning because it was expected of him. He'd never held it against her, but it made her seem hypocritical when she was getting angry about this. Still, he'd walked around the Square for fifteen minutes, feeling like an idiot for storming out like a five-year-old, instead of dealing with it like an adult. But he was still acting like a child, because he was too proud to go back in without letting some time pass. Also, part of him- the part of him that didn't know his mother very well apparently- was hoping that she'd have calmed down if he let some time go by before he went back. He knew he had no choice but to go back, and when he circled it a third time, he drew in a breath and walked towards it.

"Well, thank you for deciding to grace me with your presence once again. It's not like we have work to be getting on with, or anything."

"Sorry."

"I was this close to calling Rebecca in. You know how bad Rebecca is."

"...no, I don't."

"Well, if you did, you'd understand the direness of the situation."

"I've been gone fifteen minutes."

"This is urgent," she insisted.

He cocked his head. "It's for a sixty-fifth birthday party. And it's not until tomorrow."

"Are you saying the elderly don't require urgency?"

"I'm saying people who request that their food be 'spicy but not _Indian _spicy' aren't going to be too fussed, as long as the food doesn't give them the runs."

"So it's okay to shirk your responsibilities?"

"I am here on a voluntary basis, you know."

"And that makes it okay to just leave your mother on her own to do the job of five people?"

"No. Look, I'm back now, so we can get on with it."

They worked in silence for a few minutes. The tension was getting to him, as usual. He wasn't good with silence. Most of the stupid things he'd said in his life were down to him trying to break awkward silences, which had been a frequent occurrence in the Masood household.

"Do you have any idea what it's like having the two people you love most in the world hating each other? It's like being pulled in two directions and you can't follow both. Or you can, but only so far and you let down everyone because you can't go all the way."

"Well, we both know which direction you're choosing."

"Mum..."

"That hurt. That hurt more than anything. More than you... being what you are. More than you lying to us all for months on end. More than the thought of you not having children," she said. "Your child is supposed to love you more than anything on this earth and you chose _him _over me. How do you think _I _felt, Syed? Knowing that you'd rather be with that man, than be with your family?"

"I wouldn't _rather_."

"You said to me you couldn't live without him. But you could live without us?"

"Well, those four years taught me well."

She sighed, disappointed. "If I'd known about that, I would have _begged _you to return home, you know that."

"You know how miserable I was after you found out and me and Christian? That's what I was like after Dad told me to leave. For months on end. I was always _thisclose _to ringing home but I was scared in case Dad answered the phone. I was scared that you'd found out and you'd refuse to speak to me."

"I could never do that. Even after everything, I wanted nothing more than for that phone to ring. Every time the phone rang, there was a part of me hoping it was you."

"I did the same." He smiled. "You didn't even have my number. I suppose I expected you to be psychic or something. I was so jealous when Christian got a phone call off Jane or Lucy... and actually got to see them sometimes. I tried to pretend I wasn't, but he knew. Limited them as much as he could. Never brought them home."

"You could have rang. Just to tell me you were okay," she whispered.

"I told you, Tamwar told me it would just make everything worse."

"When have you ever listened to him?" she said, humour in her voice.

"He knew the situation better than I did," he replied.

"It never occurred to you he just didn't want you to talk to me?"

"Of course it did. But Tamwar always has his reasons and they're rarely _wrong_. If he'd thought it was better for you to talk to me, he would have let me."

"Would you like to come over tonight?"

He stared at her for a long moment, wondering where that had come from. "After last time?" he asked incredulously.

She pulled at her apron, awkwardly. "Your father will be... fully informed this time," she said. "And Tamwar's back up at university."

"Three's a crowd, they say," he said, with mocking brightness in his voice.

"We could go out somewhere, just me and you, but I'd really like you and your father to..."

"What? Mum, we never had the greatest relationship, even when I was a kid. I think this is just the straw that broke the camel's back. We're never going to be okay."

"You could at least try. For me," she said, repeating his earlier words back at him.

His mother had always been the master of the guilt trip. It had been one of the things he'd forgotten about her that he'd rather have stayed lost. "Okay," he said, relenting.

"Thank you. I would just like you and your father to be able to be civil."

"I _was _being civil," he pointed out. "And he was. At the end, anyway."

"I'd like you to be able to conduct a conversation without me having to intervene. It's not much to ask, is it?"

"It shouldn't be, but it is. When I'm invited back into the family home, like I haven't done anything wrong, he has the right to be angry. But I'm not just going to sit there and let him make out like I'm some grasping..."

She raised a hand to stop him. "Of course not. But there'll be none of that, I swear to you."

"Mum, I'm not going to be here much longer. Just tell him that. If he knows this is a short-term arrangement, he might be willing to be a bit more friendly."

Her head snapped up when he said 'much longer'. "How long?"

He shrugged. "A couple of days. I need to get back to work. Christian does, as well, though he doesn't seem fussed about it. I suppose he's got more pressing things to think about."

She inhaled sharply. "Oh."

"What?"

"Well, I suppose I'm a little bit disappointed," she said. "I'd been hoping to see more of you."

"You've seen plenty of me," he pointed out. "We've spend eight hours a day, if not more, together fairly frequently. In fact, I'm surprised you're not sick of the sight of me."

"_Never_," she said emphatically. "Could you not stay a bit longer?"

"I need to get back to work," he repeated. "I can come back up, though. Whenever you want."

"That's... better, I suppose. I've just missed seeing you every day so much."

"Me too," he said quietly.

"Then stay."

"I _can't_," he replied. He was beginning to feel guilty, even though he couldn't wait to get away from this place. "Like you said, responsibilities can't just be dropped on a whim. And think it through, Mum, where would I be living, since clearly my current living situation is unpalatable to you?"

"Well, you could come and live with us, of course." He looked at her sceptically, and she added, "Temporarily."

"Right, Dad'd be _thrilled_," he said. "And I suppose Christian will be allowed over for sleepovers?"

She went white at the prospect. "No! Of course not!"

"I'd have to live with him, Mum," he replied.

She observed him for a moment, and knew that it wasn't a negotiable point. "You're right, Syed. I couldn't stand that."

"See? I just think it's for the best not to live here anymore. But we won't lose contact again, okay? I promise that. I could come up for birthdays and things."

"Yes," she said, but it was extremely strained.

"You know, Mum, it's hardly unusual for people's adult children to only see them on special occasions."

"I know. But I never thought that would be _us_. I thought my children... well, you, at least... would always be close at hand. But Shabnam's off in Pakistan, having the time of her life, Tamwar's in Oxford, and I don't even _know _where you live."

"We're just growing up, Mum," he replied. "It happens. We get taller and we move away and fall in love and go to uni and get jobs. I'm sure it happened to you, too, back in the 1700s."

Her lips curved upward, but it wasn't quite enough to be considered a smile. "Just because you're grown up, it doesn't mean you have to grow apart from me."

"I know that. But if I'd married Amira, you don't expect that we'd have stayed in Walford forever? Amira had much bigger aspirations than that. I did, too."

"I don't know. Would you have?" she asked. "I suppose we'll never know, will we?"

"No, we won't."

She smiled sadly. "We would have seen each other far more than special occasions, though."

"I could come up more often. I just didn't want to push my luck," he said. "Plus, Christian'll be coming up a ton, I bet, to see Jane, so I could just come up with him."

"Push your luck!" she repeated, incredulously. "I want to see _you_ as often as possible."

He sighed, the way she'd practically shouted 'you' in her attempt to 'subtly' emphasise it was hard to miss. "I'll try my best."

"Good."

"But I'm going to be buried in work for a while. You can't just drop everything and expect there not to be consequences," he said, not realising the significance of his words until his mother's face darkened.

Then her expression cleared and she gestured to the kitchen. "We have work to be getting on with. We're falling behind. It's getting terrible, these daily chats."

He had to smile. "'Chats', that's an optimistic way of putting it."

"I am trying, it's just..."

"Hard. I know."

She nodded. "There was a time I never thought I'd see the word 'hard' associated with our relationship."

"When everything was straightfoward."

"No," she said. "When I was the person you loved more than anything."


	10. Chapter 10

_Okay, another slow update, but they will be quicker in coming from hereon in. I won't give any time frames, because I can never stick to them, but I really want to have the reveal parts up before New Year's Day, for obvious reasons. Plus, I've had writer's block which was sorted out by reading the spoilers for the wedding yesterday! So, yay!_

_Hope you enjoy it._

_xxx  
_

"You're home early," Christian commented.

Syed looked around, pointedly. "This isn't home."

"Well, that's a lot easier to say than 'you're temporary residence early'."

"It's more like a hostel," he pointed out. "A bad hostel."

"Look, just because we have bunk beds and the hot water isn't exactly 'hot' and the oven doesn't work..."

Syed let a smile escape despite his foul mood. "It doesn't matter. We're going home-home soon."

Christian picked at threads in the couch. "Yeah. Jane's got an appointment the day after tomorrow, I'm going to take her to that and then we can go home on Thursday."

His smile grew larger, Christian could practically see him latching onto the word 'Thursday'. "Thursday. I'm just going to ring work and say Thursday. Just so they know I'm not messing them about," he said, reaching into his pocket for his mobile.

"Isn't it closed now?" Christian asked, looking at his watch.

"Oh. Right. I keep forgetting that some people don't work twelve hour shifts."

"So, why are you back so soon?"

"We finished early. Only twelve hours, instead of the average fourteen. I think Mum's getting soft in her old age.

"And she didn't want you to get ahead on tomorrow because...?"

"She actually wanted to spend some time with her baby son. Shocking."

"Or the two of you had yet another 'disagreement' and she couldn't take the awkwardness and sent you home."

"That...might be slightly closer to the truth," he admitted.

Christian almost laughed. "Two years off, and I can still sense a Zainab tongue-lashing a mile off."

"Yeah, well, you've got a lot more experience with them than most people," Syed said good-naturedly. "And it wasn't a tongue-lashing, just a spat."

"What was she saying, then?" he asked.

He shrugged. "What do you expect? She was... less than happy about our living situation."

Christian's nose wrinkled, in confusion. "You told her about living here? I thought we..."

"No, Dad did. Didn't get the honour," he admitted.

He winced. "Your dad being the postman has its disadvantages."

"No kidding," Syed said, his voice full of scorn.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Are things between the two of you okay?"

"No," he said. "But we're the same. Which is pretty much 'not okay'."

"Was she upset?" he asked. "She does realise us living together isn't exactly ground-breaking stuff?"

He nodded, slowly. "More that she thought I was deceiving her than anything," he said. "Though the thought of people seeing her son living with her bloke filled her with pride, obviously."

"You weren't, though. Deceiving her, I mean."

"I wasn't exactly honest with her, either, though. And I've got previous, haven't I? She still doesn't trust me. I can't blame her but... I've been nothing but honest since I got here. Apart from today, and she jumped all over that."

"Sy, you're going to have to work at it, that's all. These things take time. It's like... your mum feels like she's lost a son and she's having to deal with the new one, but she's not quite sure how to go about it."

"I'm the same," he said, but there was little belief in his words.

"No, you're not. Not to her. This isn't the 'real' Syed for her. You did a good job convincing her otherwise. Say whatever you'd like, your acting skills are impressive."

"Thanks," he said sourly. "I can't take it. I can't take a daily dose of 'What Syed Did Wrong, A Reminder', like I don't know. I was such an idiot to think I could run away from this."

"You weren't running away. Your mum could never have taken seeing us together all the time... I was running away, you were being kind."

"I was being a coward. I didn't want to see how hurt my mum was, how angry my dad was, how heartbroken Amira was..."

"Yeah, somehow I don't think Amira would have been that shocked to the core," Christian pointed out.

"Still. Just seeing her made me feel guilty as anything, even if she wasn't completely miserable, which she was most of the time. Even imagining it was nowhere near as bad as seeing it for real."

"Well, imagine how hurt your mum would have been if she had to have a constant reminder that we were together, though."

Syed looked down at his hands, examining his palms intently as he spoke, "Don't you think the empty bedroom did that? The empty place at the table?"

"It's different to seeing it shoved in your face, every time you turn around, a reminder... it is."

He lifted his head, but still couldn't look Christian in the eye. "Which is why we're going home as soon as possible."

"I told you, Thursday," Christian reminded him.

Syed sighed. "I really wish it was tomorrow. Or today."

"Why?"

"I agreed to have a meal with my family before I went."

"Fun," he commented.

Syed chuckled humourlessly. "You know, it went so brilliantly well last time, I wanted another shot," he said. "I couldn't let my mum down."

"It won't be that bad this time. Your dad'll know, presumably."

"That'll just mean he has time to prepare his thinly-veiled insults. I mean, it's his last chance for a while, he'll need to get as many as he can in."

"Your dad isn't out to get you, Sy," Christian said, quietly.

"He doesn't need to be, I leave myself open to them," he replied.

"Seriously, it was just the shock. He'll be better this time. And, let's be honest, the last time you made contact after a long period of time out of nowhere..."

"It's not out of nowhere, though!" he insisted. "They knew about Jane. They must've known you were coming back for that. And they can't have thought I would just leave you to it."

"When you're angry, you don't think logically," he said. "Wait, I forgot. You make your best judgements when you're angry, don't you?"

"Why are you on his side?"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You sound like a five-year-old. Did you seriously just stamp your foot?"

"Well, he makes me feel like one."

Christian tucked an errant strand of hair behind Syed's ear. "I'm just trying to make you see that he doesn't hate you, Syed."

"Funny, he does a good impression of it."

"You're his son," Christian said.

"And that just trumps everything, does it? No matter how much wrong I do, some biological bond makes it all okay."

"That's the great thing about parents, it does. They'll always love you, no matter what," he said.

"Loving someone and actually being able to stand being around them are two different things."

"Yeah, but one makes the other one a lot easier," he said. "Just go and be a grown-up and be civil and smile for an hour and then by the next day, we'll be back in Leeds. Just think of it like that."

"Right."

Sensing that Syed didn't want to discuss it any further, he decided a topic-change was in order. "What do you want for tea, then? We have... " He opened the fridge. "Half a pint of..." He sniffed the bottle warily, "off milk. Apparently the fridge doesn't work too good, either."

"I dunno. It's a hard decision."

"I should've gone shopping but I've been busy," he said apologetically.

"Me too."

"Takeaway it is. Still have all the numbers memorised," he replied, tapping his temple.

"Food poisoning, Walford-style. I've missed it."

Christian looked up at the melancholy in his voice that was so unrelated to the words. "It's gonna be all right, Sy."

"Yeah. It is," he said, but the enthusiasm was too forced. "We're out of here soon."

"Right."

"Then it'll just be you and me, no complications. The way it should be."

Christian raised his eyebrows. "No complications. That's us. That's what they always say, 'Christian and Syed- now there's a couple that's straightforward'."

"Well, okay, less. Just being here makes everything really complicated again. I know it wasn't always easy just us, but... God, it was easier than this."

xxx

Christian heard the baby crying before he saw him. It was the high-pitched wail of a child who'd had everything he could possibly want, and still wasn't satisfied. He knew from Roxy that it was the most frustrating sound in the world, and made the hearer feel an utter failure as a caregiver. So, when the mother pushing the pram came around the corner looking tired and frustrated, he wasn't surprised. Though he was surprised to see that mother was Zainab. It was rare to see her anything but composed, and she'd been such a hugely present absence in his life, he'd almost dehumanised her. Seeing her, looking exhausted, with her hair a mess and her clothes stained with something that looked like strained peas, he felt a swell of sympathy that he'd never thought he could feel for her.

When he looked up at her, he noticed she was almost at the point of crying herself. "Giving you trouble, is he?"

"Clearly," she snapped.

He lifted both of his hands, a surrender. "Haven't you got someone else to look after him? I'm sure Syed will..."

"Syed's gone to see a supplier," she said, curtly. She looked down to her wailing son, despairingly. "He's not normally like this. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Let me help you."

"I don't want your help."

"But you obviously need it," he said. "I promise, it's not catching."

She looked him up and down. "You're certain of that?" She sighed, relenting. "I... fine. I wouldn't do this if I weren't desperate, you understand, but I have a function in less than two hours and the food isn't even nearly prepared. We don't even have the supplies, those useless..."

When the pram reluctantly changed hands, the crying quieted slightly. "See, look, the little fella just needs a change of scenery. He'll be fine. I'll take him 'round the Square, he'll be knackered by all the screaming he's been doing, and you can work in peace, okay?"

"Don't be long," she warned.

"I won't, Zainab," he promised.

"And don't let him eat anything off the ground. He has a habit of..."

"Look, I mightn't have a baby of my own, but I know enough to stop them eating stones, okay?" he said. "He'll...be ...fine. When will Syed be back?"

"A half-hour or so."

"Half-an-hour, then."

"Be careful!" she called after him. He could feel her watching his every step.

"Damn," he yelled back over his shoulder. "That ruins my plans to go sky-diving with him. Ruin all my fun."

"Don't even joke, Christian. You've already ruined one son."

He chose to ignore that comment. After she'd had so many shots, it was too easy to let a single one go.

xxx

Christian was walking back down towards the Unit, because his half-hour was about to run out, and the last thing he needed was more of Zainab's anger heaped on him. As he walked, he spotted Syed about to enter. He started to run to catch up with him, calling his name. Syed glanced up at the sound of his name, looking surprised to see Christian pushing a pram. Syed glanced down at the pram, and then did a double take. "Is that my brother?"

"Nah, I just kidnapped a random kid. You know how crazy baby fever can make you. If you leave a baby unattended in your back garden, you deserve to have them stolen. Yes, it's your brother. Who did you think it was?"

"You know, you can just say 'yes' sometimes," he said. "I just assumed it was Roxy's kid."

"That'd be no fun, though would it? Amy's a bit old for pushchairs, now."

"What are you doing with him?" he asked.

"Well, I was planning to sell him but there aren't any takers. But fingers crossed..." he trailed off. "Don't worry, I just borrowed him. Actually, now you're here, you can take him back to your mother."

"Back to Mum?" he asked, clearly shocked. "She let you have him?"

"I told you. If you leave a baby unattended..." he said. "Obviously, Syed."

"What did you do to her? Hypnosis? Master the art of personality transplants?"

"Actually, I caught her in the middle of a meltdown."

"And you've still got your head attached to your shoulders?" He nodded approvingly. "Impressive."

"You've given me plenty of practice with hissy fits," he pointed out.

"Ha ha," he drawled and took the pram out of Christian's hands. "You're hilarious, you know that?"

"I'm full aware" Christian gazed down at Kamil, a small smile on his lips. "He looks just like you."

"I know. It's weird, isn't it?"

"It's lovely."

Syed looked at Christian's beaming smile for a moment, and then looked away. "I think she thinks that he's a fresh start. Like, another go at me. Hopefully he won't be such a disappointment."

"Your mum still thinks the world of you," Christian insisted. "You know that."

"I'm still a disappointment. Look, I don't have time to get into this, anyway. I need to get back to work."

"Yeah, I've got some serious illegal Jeremy Kyle watching to do on my unlicensed TV, so..."

"Sounds like an exciting afternoon. Nearly as exciting as mine."

"I'm making the most of it before Ian puts me to work. I've been here well over a week now, my grace period is almost over."

Syed grinned. "Ah, when your mum's more of a slave master than Ian? You know you're in trouble."

"I think if he wasn't so upset, it would have been less than twenty-four hours, I reckon."

"Think about it. We could both wear our uniforms."

"Now you're just trying to make my head explode."

"I bet you could rip the hairnet right off me."

"Don't tempt me," he said.

"Right, seriously, need to go," he said, beginning to walk away, then paused and turn back. "Wait. You said we were going home on Thursday."

"Yeah...?"

"Why would Ian put you to work for a day? Even he's not that stupid."

"I was just joking, Sy."

He shook his head. "Sorry, I just got a bit panicky there." He shuddered. "Just the thought of staying here much longer."

"Yeah. Well, don't worry."

"Okay, I won't. I cannot wait to get out of here," he said, a wide smile on his face.

"Yeah, me too," Christian murmured, almost to himself.

"Better get back, Mum'll be losing it at the thought of her baby son being corrupted."

xxx

"You've actually, totally and completely lost it. I heard having a baby can rot your brain, but I thought that was limited to walking into a room and forgetting why you're there," Syed exclaimed.

"I'm serious. I have pretended this... problem... doesn't exist for long enough."

"No way! I'm never going to agree to this. And Christian wouldn't either. So, there's the end of your insane... whatever you're doing."

"Actually," she said and there was a definite smugness in her voice that he hadn't heard in two years. The smugness of her having one over on someone, "Christian's already said yes."

"You've spoken to him about this?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes. He was quite enthusiastic, actually."

"Enthusiastic? No offence, but he'd rather cut off a part of his body than spend an hour in your company."

"Apparently, if it's for you, he'd do it." All of the humour was gone from her voice. She sounded oddly sad at that statement. Perhaps she was thinking of the same sentence, only reversed.

"But how's it for me if I don't want him to do it?" he asked.

"He seems rather of the opinion that it would be good for you. I agree. And it's not often he and I see eye to eye."

"No. No. No. A million times no. Seriously, there are diseases I'd rather catch than go through this. Life-threatening diseases."

"Then I suppose we'll just have to do it without you. I wonder what Christian and I could possibly talk about."

"That's amazing. You managed to find the one thing even worse."

The smugness was back. Her tongue stuck out between her teeth. "See you at seven," she said, and in that moment, he wanted to find Lucas Johnson and ask him how he'd gotten away with murder for so long.

xxx

Christian saw the irritation coming off Syed in waves, but chose to pretend he hadn't. "So. How was your mum? Has she calmed down?"

"Better. She told me to say 'flahgangagin', which I think roughly translates as 'thank you very much for taking such good care of my youngest child and enabling me to get on with my daily chores'."

"Tell her 'blegghfrunde'. She's welcome."

"Oh, yes, and just another small thing."

Christian looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing. Except you agreed to have a meal with us?"

"Yeah... look, Syed..."

"Are you actually mental? Do you want to ruin the small amount of progress I've made with Mum, with Tam? Make my relationship with Dad even worse, if that's possible?"

"No. I was just thinking about what you said before, about avoiding problems. You were right, we can't run away from this."

"We can! Easily! We can get back into the car tonight..."

"Jane's got a hospital appointment! And you promised your mum."

"But you didn't promise her anything. I'll just go without you and say..."

"No, Sy. Come on. We've got to do this at some point."

"Why? We're not exactly the picture of the Muslim family ideal, are we? And you're not exactly the meet-the-parents sort, either. Part of the trade-off with us is we don't get that normality. We don't get to have family meals."

"It'll be good for you."

"No, it'll be good for you. I'm sure you're going to have a great time, making hilarious sexual innuendos and forcing my dad to punch you in the face, again. What, was the last time not good enough?"

"He didn't punch with a fully-clenched fist..." he paused. "Syed, I'm not going to make this awkward for you, I promise. That'll take care of itself."

He sighed. "This really isn't necessary, you know. Like, at all. I could live my whole life without knowing what a meal with you, my dad, my mum and Tamwar is like."

"The last two were great."

"Let's see. One led to me being blackmailed. And the other one was the most uncomfortable experiences of my entire existence. So, yeah, great track record, there."

"Maybe tonight will be third time lucky."

"Yeah. Or maybe this'll be the one that kills me."

"Admittedly, that sounds more likely."

"You know, I'll never forgive you for agreeing to this."

Christian grinned widely. "I know."

"Do I need to start calling her Mrs. Masood?" Christian said. "Or should I just skip the preamble and start calling her 'Mum'?"

"I think she might poison your lunch, if she hasn't already, but you feel free," he said. "Look, just don't mention that we have any sort of... physical relationship, all right? And by 'mention' I mean, by way of implication, as well as you coming out and saying it."

"Ruin all my fun, why don't you? Look, Syed, I promised you I wouldn't."

"I know what you're like. You can't help yourself. I mean it, Christian. I know Mum's got some ulterior motive for getting us here, and I doubt it's to announce that she full-heartedly supports our relationship, but I still don't want to upset her unnecessarily."

"I'll be good, I promise."

"Yeah, if only you could be continuously good for more than thirty seconds at a time."

"Well, it's not my fault it's no fun."

"Where is she, anyway?"

"Probably listening at the other side of the door," Christian whispered.

Syed straightened up immediately. "So she just heard all the stuff we just said."

"Yep," Christian replied, falsely bright.

"Mum!" Syed called, opening the front door.

She was scrambling up, from where she had clearly been eavesdropping. "Hello. I didn't hear you there."

"I bet," Syed replied curtly.

As Syed glanced around nervously, his mother said, "Your father couldn't make it, unfortunately." She eyed Christian warily. "Though given the way you bring out his violent tendencies, it's probably for the best."

"So how long have we got until he returns? Not long, given how you keep looking at the door."

"Whatever do you mean?" Her innocence was about convincing as Christian's had been earlier.

He breathed out sharply. "I don't think lying to Dad will..."

"I didn't lie to him," she insisted.

"So you mentioned that Christian was calling by, did you?"

"Not in so many words," she admitted, and looked to him. "What did you want me to say?"

"Something. Just... something, Mum."

"I did mention you were coming," she said.

Hurt flashed across his face, but it was gone a moment later. "And that's why he's out? Nice to know."

"What do you expect, Syed? Your father may be unable to express himself in a rational manner, but I can't exactly disagree with him, can I?"

Syed sighed. "Tambo's up from Oxford, though?"

"It's half-term."

"All that seems like a million years ago to me," Christian said.

As soon as his mother was ahead of them, he turned to Christian. "You are going to live to regret this," Syed whispered in his ear.

"I didn't do this for me, did I?"

xxx

"... and she said 'that's just disgusting' and walked off."

Syed and Christian were both laughing hard at the story Christian had been telling about their time in Leeds involving some confusion over a blow-up couch with the neighbours, but the two Masoods were blank-faced.

Christian's laughter cleared up. "I suppose you had to be there."

"Yeah," Tamwar said vaugely.

Zainab looked at the two of them, clearly uncomfortable with the sight of them laughing and joking with their 'you had to be there' stories. "Oh, Syed, I forgot to mention. You know Parveen?"

"No..." he said slowly.

"Bushra's daughter? Small, glasses..."

"Dumped curry on your head?" Tamwar added.

"Oh, yes. That pleasant girl," he drawled. "How I've missed her. We must catch up."

"Well, she got married last month," she said, happily.

"Seriously. I always got the impression she was a... " He glanced at his mother, and finished, "wasn't the marrying type."

"Why? Because she didn't fancy you?"

"Well, she did.. a bit," Syed said defensively.

"Right, and dumping curry on someone's head is a traditional Islam way of saying 'I love you', I take it?" Christian added.

He turned his head to face Christian, who had been positioned at furthest possible distance away from him whilst still technically sitting at the table by his mother. "Don't you start," he said, then looked at his mother. "So, who took her on, then?"

"Oh, I don't think you know him. But Bushra is so pleased, and she's not easily impressed, as you well know. She always expected the eldest to marry best, because she was the most attractive, but Parveen has surprised her. The wedding was beautiful, of course. Bushra was so smug. Which I know is a permanent condition for her, but she was really laying it on thick, the condescending woman. 'Such a shame about your son and that beautiful girl. Whatever happened there?' What was I supposed to say? It's been two years and she's still harping on about it. Amira..."

Syed's head snapped up at her name. "Have you seen her? Amira?"

"Oh, yes, actually. A couple of months ago, I bumped into her on Oxford Street. Such a pretty girl, she is. I'd forgotten. She didn't say much, I suppose the sight of me brought up some less than pleasant memories. But she had a ring on her finger, so I presume she has put the past behind her."

"She's engaged?"

"Yes."

Syed smiled. "Good for her. Really, I'm pleased she found someone. I told her she would."

"Bushra said he is a very handsome fellow, too."

"Well, she'd settle for nothing less," he said.

Zainab looked faintly disappointed, like she'd been expecting a less positive reaction from him.

"Zainab, this is lovely," Christian said, if only to break the silence.

"Of course it is. What were you expecting?"

"To be honest? Tripe and entrails."

"Christian," Syed warned.

"Well, what? Am I supposed to pretend..."

"Yes, you are. So stop it. Right now. You are the one who agreed to this. I didn't want this, so don't you... Mum, why are you smiling?"

"I think this meal really is some of my best work, no?"

"Are you enjoying this?" he asked, gesturing between himself and Christian.

"No, of course not!"

"This is what this is. You're trying to create tension between us!"

"Actually, I had nothing whatsoever to do with your argument, I was being polite..."

"Oh, no. But you've been trying to create an atmosphere all night. Talking about the past and trying to make me feel jealous about Amira and do I know who's just gotten married? Yeah, Mum, thanks a lot."

"So, what? I can't mention the past now?"

"Christian and I have managed quite well without talking about it all that much."

"Well, I think it's fairly obvious you should have been," she pointed out. "Any healthy relationship..."

"Is this relationship counselling?" Christian interrupted, horrified.

Her facial expression matched Christian's exactly. "God forbid. The last thing I want is to..."

"Make our relationship better?" Syed said. "Yeah, that's evident."

"I don't think any relationship that is based on the people involved ignoring their problems is built on solid foundations. That's all I'm saying," she replied, evenly.

"We don't ignore them..." Syed said.

"Then why was coming back here such a shock to the system, hmm? Which it clearly was, if you've had such an adverse reaction to simply being here. Two people who had put the past behind them would not have such issues with being here."

"I think we should go," Syed replied, standing.

Zainab looked slightly satisfied. "I've hit a nerve, then."

"No. Our relationship is fine. Brilliant, actually."

"Of course it is, if you never face any of your problems! Every relationship would be wonderful if we all did that!" she said, tugging at his arm. "Stay. You're too skinny. He obviously hasn't been feeding you."

"You always say that," Syed said.

"Because you were always too skinny. Now, you're just ridiculous. Seriously, nobody without a wasting disease should be that thin. A couple of meals from me will sort you out."

"Yeah, because every meal is at least fifty percent over the guideline daily amounts," Tamwar commented.

"He's so clever, I can barely understand what he's saying most of the time," Zainab said, proudly.

Seeing the opportunity for a change of topic, Christian jumped at it eagerly, "So, Oxford? Second time lucky."

Tamwar tried to hide his wince at the reminder of his initial failing. "Yes, I suppose you could put it that way."

"What's it like, then? Oxford," he said it with all the significance of someone saying the Queen was coming to dinner.

"These people make me look like a drooling idiot."

"Yeah, you're practically running out of the brain power to maintain basic motor functions," Syed replied.

Tamwar nodded. "I feel like that half the time. Sometimes, they'll say something and I won't quite get it, and they look at me like my trousers are around my ankles."

"I understand. I mean, just the other day, there I was with Stephen Hawking and... Bill Gates, and, boy, was my face red!" he said. He lowered his voice, "Is Bill Gates clever? Stephen Hawking is the only one I know."

Tamwar smiled. "Yeah, he basically designed Windows and revolutionised the technological world, so fairly clever, I'd guess."

"Good. See, me, barely scraped my O-levels- that's how old I am, O-Levels- and got a job straight off. People don't really do that these days, do they?"

"I don't think you're even allowed to get a job straight after school anymore."

Christian shook his head in despair. "God, I feel ancient."

"All three of my children went to university. It was always something I was proud of them for. But Oxford..."

"Shabnam and I both went to Russell Group universities, Mum. We hardly qualify as mentally handicapped."

"I know, and I was immensely proud of both of you. But Oxford. It's the number one university in the world, is it not?"

"About fifth," Tamwar corrected.

"Fifthbest in the world? Pfft. Why'd you even bother? How many universities are there in the world?"

Tamwar smiled ."About nine thousand."

"And yours is fifth out of nine thousand? Crap, that. You ought to be ashamed."

"I am, deeply."

"Best I ever did was third place in a Mr. Gay contest. Doesn't sound too bad, except there were only ten contenders and I was pipped to the post by an unconvincing drag queen."

Tamwar outright laughed and Syed suppressed a grin but Zainab didn't look amused. "I hardly think your... exploits are appropriate for mealtime conversation," she said.

"Come on, Mum, he's not exactly saying anything out of line," Tamwar said. "Drag queen?"

Zainab glared at her youngest son. "I need to check on Kamil," she snapped, with all the friendliness she would use if she was planning to murder someone. "I'll be back."

Christian waited until she was out of earshot and continued, "Okay, in my defence, he was very pretty. And I think the voting system was tampered with. And it wasn't what you'd call 'official' as it was ten tanked-up fellas who thought I was too full of myself."

"Yeah, they were totally wrong about that," Syed said.

"Knowing you're gorgeous is a completely different thing to being full of yourself."

"You're hardly in a position to throw stones," Tamwar pointed out. "Wasn't the reason Parveen dumped curry all over you was that you said you were out of her league?"

He squirmed, uncomfortable. "I didn't say that..."

"What did you say?" Christian asked.

"It's not important."

"C'mon, I always wondered what that was about. I can't believe anything that came out of that awful Bushra could be so... amazing. But there's evidence to the contrary."

"Fine. I might have said that... there were women that would've killed to be with me. But I didn't mean it, I was just winding her up."

"Okay, there are some things that are even funnier in retrospect," Christian said, grinning. "This is one of those things."

"It should've been obvious when you didn't snap one of Bushra's daughters up, because, seriously," he said. "I just thought it was Amira. I thought it was because you were interested in Amira," he added, quietly.

"It was," he said, then clarified, "In a way."

"In what way? In a beard way?" Tamwar snapped.

"No. She was the ideal, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, she was," Tamwar whispered. His fondness of Amira clearly hadn't abated that much in her absence.

Syed looked to Christian, who had such a lack of expression it could only be forced. "I thought... if I couldn't make it with her, I wouldn't be able to make it with anyone. Any woman. I got so fixated on it..."

"Not on her, though. You weren't fixated on her. Just on the...perfect life."

"Tam, it took me a while to realise, if you don't have someone you really care about, none of that stuff actually means anything."

"I wouldn't know," he said bitterly.

"You will," Syed assured him.

Tamwar frowned. "Or I could be one of those weird old fellas who goes trainspotting as a substitute for sex."

"Yeah, I don't think trainspotting is a very good substitute for sex," Christian said.

"Exactly! So to combat my frustration I'll be shaking my fist at kids and telling them to get off my lawn!"

"You don't get to have a lawn when you're living in your parents' basement," Syed pointed out.

Tamwar scowled at him. "We don't even have a basement."

"We don't have a lawn, either," he said. "Just don't let Mum tell you who to marry."

"I don't know. I'm getting fairly desperate."

Syed shook his head. "Nobody's that desperate. Or do you fancy marrying Mum Jr.?"

Tamwar didn't give it a reply, but shuddered.

"Seriously, when I'd just finished uni, she 'introduced' me to this girl, who told me off for not folding my napkin properly and using the fork and knife in the wrong hands. Mum was practically cheering at how perfect a wife she'd be. The similarities were actually disturbing."

"No wonder you turned..." he stopped abruptly.

"What?"

"Nothing. Yeah, Mum's already trying the whole matchmaking thing a little bit, but I think she wants to wait until I've finished my undergraduate degree."

"My ears are burning," Zainab said.

"Tamwar's just saying he wants to wait until he graduates before he gets married."

"Oh, yes, definitely. No distractions. What sort of a girl wants a university dropout anyway?"

"A... one who cares about personality?" Syed pointed out.

"Oh, shush. You can hardly claim to be an expert on women, can you?"

Clearly she had blurted it out without thinking and was thoroughly embarrassed by it. Christian grinned. "The woman has a point," Christian said.

"Can't argue with that," Syed replied, lightly.

Zainab just groaned as she sat down.

She stood at the door to the living room, just watching them. Christian was saying something that was apparently hilarious, because Syed was doubled over. That wasn't what she was looking at, though. It was the look on Christian's face when Syed wasn't looking. A look she'd seen many times, but rarely so blatantly. She recognised it from one of her wedding photographs, when a thoughtful guest had taken a candid where she'd had cake all around her mouth and Masood had a look of complete adoration of her face. She'd cherished that photo more than any of the professional photographs taken that day. She pretended to be embarrassed of it, and never showed it to anyone, but it was actually because it was too precious to share. Her son looked up at Christian and the look vanished as quickly as it appeared. It had shaken her, though, more than she cared to admit to herself. She had always thought of Christian and Syed's thing- she had never given it an actual term in her mind- as something completely and totally separate from the sort of love she had experienced herself. Christian had told her he loved Syed, but it was entirely different seeing it. Recognising something in it, feeling an affinity with it, made it harder to belittle and ignore.

"Mum? Is there any particular reason you're stood in a doorway staring at the two of them like they hold the secret to the meaning of life?"

She jumped at the sound of her son's voice. "Oh, Tamwar. You scared me. I must've been daydreaming. Is your brother okay?"

He glanced at Syed, who was smiling broadly. "He looks happy enough."

She rolled her eyes. "Your baby brother."

"He's still asleep."

"Really? He's been asleep all day," she said. She lowered her voice, "You don't think Christian gave him alcohol, do you?"

"No! Why would he?"

"It can help them sleep, can't it? So they say," she said.

"Well, yeah, but I think Christian's better informed about the limits of Muslims than your average bloke."

She furrowed her brow. "He never sleeps all through the day like this."

"Maybe he's just knackered from all the screaming he all last night and this morning. Or maybe he's not too fond of Syed," he said. "Speaking of not being too fond of Syed, where's Dad?"

"He... didn't particularly want to spend his evening with Syed," Zainab said.

"...and Christian," Tamwar added. "That's understandable."

"Yes, except he didn't know about Christian."

Tamwar winced. "That's not good."

She shrugged, still looking at her eldest son."You know your father. Stubborn as an ass."

"And you bend like a willow."

Her eyes snapped back to Tamwar. "See? This is what I was talking about before, most of the time I have no idea what you're on about. Try talking down to me, that'll help."

"Mum..."

"It isn't my fault that I'm not as intelligent as you, okay, Tamwar?" she grunted.

"I get the impression that you're just projecting, so I'm not even going to comment on that."

She sighed, anger fading. "Just go check on your brother, okay?"

"I did it like five minutes ago."

"Syed. Your other brother?"

"Right, I'll just check his nappy and burp him, shall I?"

"Just go talk to him, all right?" she said.

"What about? What for?"

She sighed; she didn't want to have to spell out something so ridiculously obvious. "So he and Christian aren't alone."

He stared at her, looking utterly perplexed. It wasn't a good look on him, she had to admit. "What do you think will happen if they are?"

"You know what homose... what Christian's like."

"Right. Yeah. Of course. He is such a slave to his libido, he's just going to jump Syed on the dinner table."

Her stomach rolled at the very thought. "Don't be disgusting."

"But that's what you're say..."

"Look, just go and do it," she interrupted. "For once, don't question me."

"Fine. But I don't know if Christian has the self-control to be able to stop even in front of me."

She wondered if he was capable of being serious for more than a minute. He was just like his father in some ways. "Oxford has done you no favours, has it? Perhaps unfunny comedy is where your heart truly belongs."

"I'm on babysitting duty," Tamwar announced as he came into the living room.

Syed tore his eyes away from Christian. "Why? Has Mum gone out?"

"No, I'm babysitting you two. Apparently, you can't be trusted. Unsurprising, really."

Syed looked around, confused. "We can't be trusted with the... plates? I mean, I know Christian's old flat is in pretty dire straits but we have plates."

"No," Tamwar said, as if it was obvious, "she can't trust you alone together."

"What?" Syed asked, almost laughing.

"You can't control yourselves, evidently."

"That's actually..." Christian said, innuendo dropping from every syllable. Apparently their promise only applied when Zainab was within earshot.

"You, shut up," Syed interrupted, warningly. "Has she lost all sense of reason, Tam?"

"Well, she doesn't understand, does she?" Tamwar said. "That's hardly her fault."

"And you do?" Syed asked, surprised.

"No, I don't. Not really. But better than Mum. And, to be fair to her, you were looking like you'd just won the moon, before."

"What? No, we weren't," Syed protested.

"Look, whatever, I don't actually care. I never had a problem with the two of you..."

"Right. Of course. You were our ultimate supporter," Syed said, sarcastically. "You founded the fan club, didn't you?"

Tamwar looked at him, incredulous. "You cheated on Amira! You lied to all of us. Repeatedly," he exclaimed. His voice softened as he said, "I understand why you did it, Syed. Look, I probably would have acted similarly if I'd been in your position. I get it, not wanting to shame the family. It just doesn't make it better."

Syed looked like he was going to say something for a moment, but then sighed, resigned. "I know."

"Right, then. Look, just don't have sex while I go to the toilet, all right? Can you keep your trousers up that long?"

"I think I'll manage."

"I don't know," Christian said, and Syed's eyes narrowed considerably. "You have lost weight."

"You're so full of sh..."

"Charm? I know."

"Charm's one word for it..."

"There's another?"

"Several, actually."

Zainab heard footsteps on the stairs and launched herself into the living room almost immediately. "Where has Tamwar gone?" she asked.

"Nature calling. He was powerless to resist," he said, the implication obvious in his voice.

Syed elbowed him in the ribs. "Pack it in," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"I asked him to stay here for five minutes."

"Where were you, anyway?" he asked. "You've been gone ages."

"In the kitchen, washing up," she replied.

"You should have said. We would've helped."

"You'd leave smears," she said absently. "It'd do no good."

"Yeah, we both worked in the catering injury for ages, and we don't know how to wash up properly. That makes sense. Are you all right, Mum?"

"I'm fine, Syed," she answered, but she could hear that her voice was strained despite her effort to make it not so.

He looked at her and his previous good humour disappeared to be replaced with guilt, an expression she had become accustomed to seeing in her son. "I think we should go," Syed said. "It's getting on, and Dad could come back..."

"I don't care. You're my son and his, as well, he may well try to forget that, but he can't."

"I just can't deal with it." He glanced at Christian and back at her. "I can't."

She exhaled, disappointed. "You will come back to see me before you leave, won't you?"

"I'll be at work tomorrow. If you need me, I mean."

"That's not what I mean. Come and see me, here. Your father and you can't avoid this any longer."

"We can and I plan on it."

"No. You're the one in this situation who did wrong. Your father is merely reacting. You need to make the first steps."

"Zainab, I really think Masood and Syed can sort this out between themselves, if they want to."

"This has nothing to do with you," she snapped.

Syed moved closer to Christian, so they were almost touching. Even on a subconscious level, he was siding with him over her, she thought, hurt. "He's got a point, Mum. If Dad wanted me to try to make the first steps, he'd be here, wouldn't he? But he isn't, so he doesn't. He's hardly one to stand down in the face of adversity, is he? So the fact that he's not here says a lot."

"You're not his adversary, Syed," she insisted.

He scoffed. "No, I'm just the son who was never good enough for him. Same difference, really."

"I know you and your father didn't always have the best relationship, but he does love you. It's just difficult for him, to see you. You can understand that, surely."

"I do understand," he replied, but she thought it sounded like the sentiment behind the words was actually the opposite. "But it's difficult for me to see him, too. Some of the things he said to me..."

"I said things, too, Syed. We all said some things we regret." Her eyes flashed to Christian, who had been more than candid about what he thought about Zainab and Masood's stance on their son.

"But you were so upset. He meant every syllable. That's the difference," he said. "I'll come over tomorrow, Mum. But just to say goodbye to you and Tamwar."

"Syed..." his mother began, a warning clear in her voice.

"Come on, Sy," Christian said, pulling at his arm. "You don't want to say something else you're going to regret. You might not get the chance to take it back."

Syed's whole body language altered, relaxed. His fists unclenched, his jaw unclenched. She was very annoyed that he'd ignored her similar requests, but Christian's words so easily affected him. "Okay," he said, restraint still clear in his voice. "I love you all, Mum. And I will miss you. I just can't stay here any longer."

When Syed walked out, with Christian not far behind, she waited until she heard the door close and let a few silent tears fall, before wiping her face and assuming a blank mask that had been permanently etched into her skin after so much practice the past couple of years. When Tamwar came downstairs and enquired as to the whereabouts of Syed and Christian, he would have no idea she'd been crying minutes before, or that her, admittedly unrealistic, hopes of a family reconciliation had just fallen apart before her.


	11. Chapter 11

_Sorry for the long, long, stupidly long wait. You've mostly got the girls over at DS for convincing *cough guilt-tripping cough* me to update and making me feel bad for not updating for so long. Mostly I was so blown away by NYD, I thought it was so perfectly done, that I couldn't write. I tend to find it really difficult to write when the show's saying exactly what I want it to say. Which explains why there were so many updates in October and November, eh?_

_There's also the actual content of this chapter I found difficult to contend with. Not much Christian/Syed (who are easy to write because I've overanalysed their scenes to a ludicrous degree) and tons of Jane and Masood. Bloody Masood. I thought __Zainab __was hard to write. Masood is near impossible. How is the cuddly, funny Masood so blooming complicated when you think about it? Also, you can tell I wrote this while I still liked Amira- I used to think rather highly of her, apparently! Seems like a long-ago distant memory._

_Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait (though I doubt it) and I hope I can get another update quicker than two months!_

_February 2012 _

They walked out of the oncology room, Christian had a reassuring smile on his face, but Jane looked as miserable as she had when she walked in. He looked over at her, surprised to see the unhappiness hadn't abated one iota.

"Jane, that went _well_, considering," he reminded her softly, taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. "A few weeks and you're going to be good as new."

"Good as new," she repeated. "What am I? A broken toy?"

He glanced over at her, concerned. "Of course not. You know what I mean. As far as cancer goes…"

"_As far as cancer goes_, I'm lucky! I mean, really, I should be over the moon," she said, launching herself ahead of him.

He walked faster, trying to play catch-up. "Well, not 'over the moon', maybe, but at least you don't need chemo."

"They said _probably _won't. There's a big difference between 'probably' and definitely."

"To cover their arses. Nothing more. Come on, Jane, that was _good_ news."

"Nothing to do with cancer is good news! That's like saying 'oh, it is such good news that I'm getting kicked out of my house, but at least I have this cardboard box!'"

"Really, though. That couldn't've have gone better, all things considered. It's all going to be fine."

"Yeah, for _you_," Jane retorted.

He froze, staring at her back. She didn't stop walking. "What is that supposed to mean?" he called after her, drawing the attention of several staff. He could practically see their fingers hovering over the 'security' button. He waved at them apologetically and caught up with his sister after she'd walked through the exit doors.

"_You_ don't have to have part of your armpit cut out, or be slowly poisoned over several weeks," she said, then added under her breath, "And you're going back home tomorrow."

His face softened. "Jane, that's not fair. I don't have a choice about that."

She spun on her heel to face him so suddenly he almost banged straight into her. "Of course not. I mean, whatever Syed wants, Syed gets, right?"

He scoffed, incredulous. "Oh, yeah, Jane! Syed's really got it all. Have you been comatose for the past two years?"

"If you had your way, he would."

"Well, yeah," he replied, frowning at her tone. "I do tend to want the best for the people I love, crazy as that is…"

She sighed. "I just mean that you've lived your whole life for him the past two years," she told him. "It's…we've barely seen you."

He felt a small amount of anger rising, along with the guilt, but shoved it down. His sister was so pale her skin was almost translucent and the bags under her eyes indicated several days of lying awake worrying. It was difficult to let his hackles rise that much when she looked so vulnerable. "That's the way it works, Jane," he replied, gently. "You meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, and you move away."

"Right, that's the way it works. You steal off in the middle of the night for minimum drama, and then your ex-boyfriend cuts himself off from his family to be with you. It's the typical approach to relationships," she said, the sarcasm practically tangible. "Where's the car?"

He looked around, realising the car park didn't look at all familiar. "It's… uh around here somewhere," he said, without much confidence, and then continued, "Okay, so the circumstances weren't usual. But it's what happens, Jane. You just see your family a few times a year…"

"A few times a year!" she exclaimed. She lifted a hand to demonstrate, and wiggled her fingers as she said, "I think I could probably count on one hand the amount of times you've visited in the past two years. Actually, you haven't visited _us _at all, we've had to visit _you_."

"I've been busy," he said, and the lack of conviction in his own words rang as clear as a bell.

The lame excuse, unsurprisingly, did little to sway Jane. "With what? Your hundreds of friends? Seriously, Christian, it's not healthy to base your whole happiness on one person."

"You're married to Ian!" he said, unable to stop himself from blurting it out. "God knows what your marriage is based on, but it's not 'healthy'. Is there anything he could do that would actually make you leave him?"

Hurt sparked on her features, but her next comment was relatively calm, "So you think that this… codependent thing that you and Syed have going is good for you?"

"Well, it's certainly done me no harm," he said offhandedly. He pressed the button on the car key, trying to hear if the noise it made when it unlocked was anywhere close, but he couldn't make it out. "You know, I think we've come out of the wrong side."

"What are we going to do, walk around for half an hour?"

"It's not my fault this car park is ridiculously huge and has no markings."

"I wasn't paying much attention," she admitted.

"Me either. I was picturing all these circumstances where this tiny lump was…"

"Terminal? Yeah, me too. Ridiculous, isn't it? You just hear the word 'cancer' and you picture losing your hair and being a burden to everyone you love and not being able to do anything for yourself…"

"You would never be a burden, Jane," he told her, then pointed ahead. "There it is."

"I didn't notice before, it's a nice car," she said, as they approached it.

"Well, it's Syed's," he replied without thinking. He knew that the subject was going to return to Syed and wished he'd kept his mouth shut. The topic change wasn't going to be favourable.

"Christian, it's done you no harm because it's _working_," she said, calmly. "What happens when it all falls apart?"

"_When_?" he echoed.

She closed her eyes, regretfully. "If. I meant if."

"And yet it sounded like 'when'. Funny how they sound different," he spat, slamming the car door shut. It only made a quiet 'click', which was less dramatic than what he'd hoped.

"The type of relationship you have with Syed…"

"What type is that, oh, expert on my life?" he said, barely able to get the car started because he was so irritated.

"You _thrive _on misery and drama. The moment you both get content, it's over."

"Hate to break it to you, sis…"

"If Zainab and Masood accepted him, it would only be a matter of time before you got bored and…"

"Get _bored_?" he interrupted, really struggling to keep a lid on his rising anger. "You know, Jane, we didn't get together _because _of the relentless misery, oddly enough, it was _in spite_ of it…"

"You're seriously telling me that if Syed had been from a family that accepted homosexuality wholeheartedly that you wouldn't have lost interest after a week?"

"All I wanted that entire time was to be with him _properly_."

"Yeah, because you _couldn't _be with him," she replied, looking worriedly at the speedometer. "Christian, slow down. It's a forty zone."

He paid her no attention. "I am with him, if you hadn't noticed. Did you forget the part where we've been together for two years?"

"Two years isn't a lifetime, Christian," she reminded him. "Might seem that way to _you_…"

"So, basically, you're saying the first proper relationship I've had is based entirely on wanting something I can't have?"

"You've always been the same," she said.

He was gripping the steering wheel to the point of pain, his knuckles turning white. "Right, because a stupid mistake I made a million years ago defines my character forever…"

"It does seem coincidental that the two people you loved were both taken."

"Isn't that just tough shit rather than me being a five-year-old?"

"I'm not saying it's you being a five-year-old. It was your way of protecting yourself."

"Right, it was really effective! I only had my heart broken, oh, sixteen times in seven months."

"A bloke who's thirty-seven and has never been in a serious relationship clearly has commitment problems. Falling in love with two taken men, when one of them was married to your sister and was _straight _and the other had the whole 'forbidden love' thing going for him, screams that that person has _serious _commitment problems," she said. "You weren't protecting yourself from heartbreak, but an actual commitment."

"And yet, here I am, in what would be popularly recognised as a 'committed relationship'…"

"I'm not saying you don't love him. In fact, I'm saying the opposite. You love him _too much_. Basing your whole happiness on a relationship- especially one that's had as many problems as yours- is dangerous. I just don't want you destroying yourself over this."

"Jane, I am really sorry you're taking this badly. But that doesn't mean you have to take it out on the person who is trying to help you…"

"It needs saying."

"Well, thank you for your concern," he said, scornfully. "I'm going to completely ignore it, but thank you anyway."

"Christian, I'm just trying to h…"

"I don't need your so-called help with anything," he told her gruffly.

The rest of the car journey was in silence, except for the occasional attempt from Jane to start a more light-hearted conversation. He ignored the attempts.

xxx

Except to give Syed a brief update on Jane's condition, Christian had been sitting in silence for most of the afternoon. Syed had tried to engage him in conversation a few times, but had been given curt one-word responses for his efforts.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked eventually. He'd been hoping Christian would tell him off his own back, but it was apparent that wasn't going to happen.

"Does it _matter_?" he snapped. "Do I need to be a fabulous mood all the time?"

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of their bunk bed this morning," Syed said, trying for cheerfulness.

He glanced over at Syed's concerned face, feeling all his agitation leave him. What Jane had said to him was hardly his fault. At least, not _directly _his fault. "I'm sorry. It's just…"

Syed waited, expectant. "Just…?"

He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. "It doesn't matter."

"Whatever it is has riled you up, so it clearly does matter."

"It's stupid, really. Jane was just saying some stuff before."

"About…?"

"Us."

Syed frowned. "As in… you and Jane?"

He indicated between the two of them. "_Us_."

"What was she saying? I know she's not a fan of me but…"

"It wasn't that. Well, she's not a fan, which might have something to do with it, actually. But she was saying I only wanted you because I couldn't have you."

Syed looked at him for a long moment before replying, "And?"

"Is this just the common perception?"

"Well, it did amplify things, didn't it?" Syed told him.

"So, it wasn't your various charms?"

"Look, same went for me. The more I couldn't have you, the more I wanted you. It's human nature. I'm pretty sure if humankind got everything it wanted, it would just die out because there'd be nothing to strive for," he said, with a shrug. "What's the problem?"

"She said, and I quote, we 'thrive on misery and drama' and the moment both of us are content, it'll be over."

Syed mulled it over for a couple of moments, before scoffing, "Well, that's just _stupid_."

"That's what I said."

"Seriously, she thinks we _liked _being miserable?"

"2009 was the best year of my life, apparently. Who knew?"

"Mine too. It's right up there with the start of 2010 for me," he said. "You don't think she's… right, do you?"

"Well, she seems to think so," Christian replied. "She seemed really sure of herself."

"But you…"

"Don't. Obviously. I think she was just upset about being ill and was taking it out on me. Surely, the moment we got away from your mother, we would've split up if that was true, wouldn't we?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know it hasn't always been easy for us, but we've been happy most of the time, right?"

"And I haven't been overwhelmed by the urge to run away from you yet."

"Well, I have, but only when you've been drinking the night before and you're spewing up in the toilet. Seriously, if that sight hasn't killed all my affection for you, nothing will. Especially not happiness."

"Contentment, she said."

"There's a difference?"

"Isn't contentment the one that people use as an excuse to get fat and lazy and call it 'settled'?"

"If you weren't so vain, you'd have done that as well," Syed pointed out.

"You got _thinner_. What does that say?"

"That my metabolism gets better with age? That I've been doing a lot more… exercise than I used to?"

"Actually, I lied before, you're looking a bit flabby, you definitely need a bit of exercise to tone up."

He looked down at himself, before smiling at Christian. "Definitely. Practically obese."

There was a loud buzzing from the intercom that made them both flinch. Christian lay back on the sofa, his eyes closed. "Dammit. Do we emit some kind of signal?"

"Ignore it," he suggested quietly.

"Last time you said that, my sister had cancer!"

"Fine, answer it, then," he replied, mock-petulantly. "But if someone hasn't had a tragic accident, I'm blaming you."

Christian gave him a dirty look. "Hello?" he greeted, hoping in those two syllables he managed to convey bog-off-for-half-an-hour-unless-it-was-absolutely-urgent.

A familiar voice came down the line, but it took him a couple of seconds to identify it. "Is Syed there?" Masood asked.

"Depends," Christian replied.

"On what?"

"What you want to see him for."

Syed looked up, mouthing 'who is it?' Christian covered the mouthpiece. "Your dad. He wants to talk to you. I reckon he wants to murder you, but he said 'talk'. I think it's a euphemism, though."

"Brilliant," he muttered under his breath.

Christian looked over his shoulder at him. "Should I let him up? I'll go away?"

"Nah, I'll go down. Could do with some witnesses who aren't terribly biased in my favour if he chooses to kill me."

"He's coming down," Christian said to Masood.

The other end went dead.

"Bye, then," he muttered churlishly.

"Wonder what he wants," Syed said.

Christian clapped his hands together, a huge fake smile on his face. "To take you out on the swings, then you can go for ice cream."

Syed glared at him. "Seriously, though. He's been avoiding talking to me most of the past fortnight. I'm going home and now he wants to talk to me?"

"Maybe that's _why _he wants to talk to you. In case he doesn't get another chance."

"What's left to say?" Syed asked, quietly.

Christian shrugged almost carelessly, but his face was sombre. "I don't know. Not an expert on the parent-son relationship in general."

"Better go see what he wants."

"Yeah. Good luck."

"I need it."

He gave Christian a quick peck as he passed. As he opened the door, he looked over his shoulder and found Christian smiling at him reassuringly.

xxx

They'd been walking around the Square for a few minutes before either of them said anything. Both of them knew that there were too many unspoken words between them, that needed saying, but neither knew where to start. Since his dad had been the one to induce the contact, Syed thought it was only fair that he was the one to start the conversation. He clearly had something explicit he wanted to say. Unless walking around in a circle in awkward silence was his father's idea of a good time, that was.

"You know what the worst part was, for me?" he said, eventually. He started like they'd been mid-conversation. Syed supposed, in a way, they had been.

Syed didn't say anything. Even though his father seemed calm enough, he knew enough not to say anything to rile him up when he was discussing such emotional things.

"The fact that you promised your mother you wouldn't see him again, and even had the nerve to make out like you were _miserable _when you were plotting to run away with him…"

Syed burst out in hysterical laughter. So much for not riling him up. "_What_?"

Masood looked in various directions around him, assuming Syed had seen something that had set him off. "What's funny?"

"It's not funny, it's just so… you…" He couldn't seem to get a grip on his incredulity and his remaining words were swallowed by cackling. He could see his father changing colour with anger, but that just added fuel to the fire of his hysteria.

"Syed, I don't know why I bother. I really don't."

His father started to walk away, and Syed managed to regain control of himself, though a few muted chuckles still forced their way out to catch up with him, and place a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Look, sorry. I'm sorry. I just… it was so ridiculous. What did Mum tell you, exactly?"

"That you'd run away, with Christian. That you loved us, but you couldn't do it anymore."

"And from that you just…" he paused, and made a vague gesture, "filled in the blanks?"

"Your mother didn't particularly like to dwell on it. For the first month or so, no-one could so much as mention your name, without her bursting into tears."

Syed looked down at the floor, gripping his lip between his thumb and forefinger. "Dad, I didn't _plan _it."

Masood looked at him, seemingly genuinely confused. "What?"

"I didn't plan it. I had no idea that Christian was leaving until about three hours before he did. I hadn't spoken to him in weeks, since I told him it was over. Like I said."

"Then how did you find out?"

Syed hesitated before replying, knowing how it sounded, "Amira told me."

"If you're going to talk a load of old rubbish, I don't know why I'm both…"

"If I was lying, I'd at least make it a plausible lie, wouldn't I? Or if not a plausible lie, an interesting one, like David Jason told me. Why would I lie anyway? What's the point of lying now?"

"That is true. When it comes to lying, you are an expert."

Only _his_ father could turn an 'I believe you, son' into an insult. Syed just rolled his eyes in response.

"Why on earth would she do it, though?"

He shrugged, the old feelings of guilt burning in his stomach. "She loved me."

His father stared at him a long moment. "I always did say she was too good for you."

_April 2010 _

There was a gentle knock at the door. If he hadn't been sitting in silence so as not to disturb his mother, he probably wouldn't have heard it. He had no idea who it could be. His mother was upstairs asleep, his father was doing his rounds and his brother was at sixth form. As with any knock, or phone call, a part of him hoped it was Christian, but he knew he'd never take the risk of upsetting his family like that, and his knock was a lot more forceful than that. Still, the illogical part of his brain was hoping for it. When he opened the door, it was Amira, and he couldn't have been more surprised if it had been Christian. Except for the odd accidental encounter on the Square, he hadn't seen her since she'd told him to stay out of her life forever. She had an anxious look on her face, and her little hands were curled into fists. If he'd had to describe her demeanour, he would have said 'agitated'.

"Are you in trouble?" he asked. It was the first thing that came to mind. She didn't really have anybody else to turn to, and she looked upset.

She sniffed haughtily. "As if I'd come to _you_ for help," she replied. "No, I'm not 'in trouble'. You might be, though."

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door frame. "What have I done now?"

She regarded him for a moment, and if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn he'd seen pity in her countenance. "It's actually more what you _haven't_ done."

The pity in her face made shame swell in his gut, which always made him lash out. "Amira, I really, really can't be bothered to mess about. You told me to leave you alone, I did. I couldn't feel worse about what I did to you if I tried. What more do you want?"

"Fine, be like that," she said. "Can I come in?"

His brow creased, at the disparity between the two sentences. "I suppose." He waited a moment, listening to make sure that there was silence before stepping aside to let her in.

She gave him a disdainful look as she walked past him. "Don't get too enthused. You might just explode."

"I don't want to get Mum's hopes up," he replied quietly. He gave a glance to the stairs, as if they were ready to tell his secrets. "She's having a nap while she can. While the baby's asleep, I mean."

"Okay. I came here to tell you… you know, it's really not my place," she said, then continued, almost to herself, "If he'd wanted you to know, he'd have told you himself..."

"Who? Christian? Has he been talking to you? What did he say? Is he okay?" he asked, the rush of questions coming out in a rush before he could stop himself. The level of concern in his voice made hurt flash across her features, but it was gone so quickly it could have been an illusion.

"I haven't been talking to Christian," she replied flatly.

He tried to hide his disappointment. "So, who, then? Or am I supposed to guess? Because, shockingly, I'm really not in the mood for games." He failed. In him, disappointment tended to come across as anger.

"I am talking about Christian. I just haven't been talking to him. Why would I? The man rui..."

"So, what? Stop messing about, Amira."

She stared at him, incredulous. "It's just that it's a bit difficult for me."

"Sorry," he replied. "It's been... well. You can imagine."

She nodded stiffly. "I'm just going to come out with it." She paused, he wasn't sure if it was meant to keep him hanging to torture him a bit, or she was just struggling with the words. Either way, he wanted to physically shake the words out of her. "Christian's leaving."

That hadn't been what he was expecting. Not that he'd had any expectations at all, but if he had, that would have been at the bottom of the list. It shouldn't have been, of course, but it hadn't even occurred to him that Christian would leave. "What?"

"He's leaving Walford. Tonight."

He stared at her, disbelieving, trying to make sense of her words. "You... he wouldn't... not without saying... where's he… _what_?"

"I overheard Jane talking to Ian. 'Begged him to stay', Jane was saying. And she kept looking over to me and every time she looked over, her voice got quieter, then she said it wasn't the right place to discuss it and went out. Didn't take a genius to figure it out."

He managed to regain some sense, and saw how hard she was struggling to tell him. "Why are you telling me this?"

He realised she wasn't looking him in the eyes, but over his shoulder, at a fixed point beyond him. He noticed she hadn't looked at him directly once since she'd started speaking to him. Not that he could blame her, exactly, but he noticed. "I hate what you did to me. I'll never forgive you, not ever. But the thing is, I don't hate you. I could never hate you if my life depended on it. And I can't stand to see you miserable."

"Amira..." Syed started, but he had no idea what he wanted to say. He didn't know whether he wanted to apologise to her for the sixtieth time or tell her to leave him alone, because seeing her was stirring up his feelings of guilt and resentment. In the end, he did neither. Instead, he listened to her, something he'd actually spent little time doing. Hearing what she was saying and actually _listening _were two entirely separate things.

"It's stupid. You know, I should be revelling in your misery. I should be so, so happy that cheating on me ruined your life," she said, blowing an errand hair out of her face. "But I can't. I'm a better person than I thought. Not good enough for you, but still."

He gave her a derisive look. "It had nothing to do with that."

"I just don't have a penis. I know. You know, it's so unfair. I should be able to tell the world what you did to me. How you hurt me. Tell your shameful secret to the whole world. But it would taint _me_. No good Muslim man would want me. How does that work?"

"You told my family. I think that was enough, don't you?"

She looked affronted for a moment, before she heard the lack of anger or blame in his tone, and the expression on her face melted into a kind of remorse. "I am sorry, Syed. But..."

He shook his head. "Why? _You_ did the right thing."

"It wasn't the right thing. I did it because I was bitter and angry and hurt and I wanted to hurt you back. No matter what you do, it's still wrong without good intentions. You can give to charity, but if you're only doing it to impress your mates? Not the right thing. Telling someone's family that they're gay just to get back at him? I didn't think..."

"It doesn't matter," he insisted, quietly.

"It clearly does. I didn't just hurt you, I hurt your mum and your dad and your brother, too, and that was inexcusable."

"What is this, then? You making it up to _me_?" he said. "Because, believe me, Amira, if you want to make it up to Mum, Dad and Tamwar, you're going entirely the wrong way about it. Mum'd pay for a flight to Australia if it got him out of the way. So, unless you want to donate to that fund…"

"I'm not making anything up to anyone. I just think you have a right to know. Whatever you choose to do with the information is up to you."

"If Christian had wanted me to know, he would've told me himself, wouldn't he? He obviously doesn't want me... to know."

"Look, Syed, letting the love of your life walk away because you want to please your family. How is that fair? To anyone?"

"Love of my... don't be ridiculous," he replied, his tone falling several notes short of 'incredulous'.

"You don't fool me, Syed," she said. "Not any more. I know you. I know you wouldn't risk losing your family, losing me over the dirty little thing your mother made it out to be."

"This really isn't any of your business," he snapped.

She stood up, raising her hands in defeat. "This is what I get for trying to be nice to my cheating scumbag of an ex-fiancé."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... Amira, I can't lose my family over anything. Especially not this," he said.

She smiled, sadly. It made his heart hurt to know how badly he'd hurt her. She was putting on a brave face, but he could see how much this was killing her to do. He wanted to tell her to go, it was okay for her to hate him, but he was too selfish to let her go. "I remember something your mum said once. It broke my heart when I thought about it, but... I remember your mother saying to me that she'd never seen you happier than when you were with me. But that wasn't me, was it?"

"You did make me happy," he said. It wasn't exactly the truth, but he didn't want to hurt her more than he already had.

"No, I say that because two weeks later I found out you were having a gay affair with one of my best friends. So, yeah. I don't think it was me," she said. "I think it made you happy to have me. The acceptable face of Islam, the good girl from the mostly-good family who wouldn't dream of having sex before marriage. But, actually being happy with me? That was never on the cards."

"But..."

"Syed, look at it this way. Your family's never going to look at you the same way. You've lost me. They all know. As much as your mother might like to think so, you can't magically turn straight," she said. "So, you can shame them and be happy, and get out of the way, so you're not rubbing their faces in it. Or you can shame them and be miserable and make them all miserable by constantly reminding them of the shame you brought on them."

"I've missed your tactfulness," he replied, affectionately.

She smiled, and, for once, it seemed almost genuine. "You can't argue with facts. Except with lies and that would be pointless," she said. "I think Jane said his train's at six. So. There's three hours warning for you."

He watched her leave. With a sudden realisation, he knew he'd never see her again. He sat there for several minutes, doing nothing but sitting. The sound of the clock seemed to be banging in his ears, in tune with his heartbeat. He could never remember, after, when his mind had been made up. It wasn't like it was an active decision he'd made. He found himself halfway up the stairs before he realised, with an irresistible urge to pack his bags.

_February 2012 _

He finished telling his father what had happened. "I still don't know what I did to deserve it," he said.

"Me either. That girl was too nice for her own good, obviously."

"Yeah," he replied. "I heard she got married, though."

"Your mother was _furious_," Masood told him, chuckling.

Syed frowned. "Really? Why?"

Masood smiled. "She reckoned there wasn't a sufficient mourning period. Basically, she didn't begrudge Amira moving on, but apparently getting over you that easily was an insult."

He couldn't help but grin. "I was _gay _and was in love with someone else. What did she want? Amira to dress in a black sackcloth and join a nunnery?"

"Well, for six months, at least."

Syed shook his head, amused. "That woman is unbelievable."

"Yeah, she is," Masood said, rather fondly.

Syed looked at him sideways, slightly discomforted to see an expression he'd often noticed on Christian's face just after he'd just been mocking him. There was a moment of silence, that wasn't precisely uncomfortable, which made a change. One of the few things he and his father had in common was love for 'that woman'.

Masood regarded him a moment. "I was just thinking before, how you were always bad at Geography. Probably because you didn't know how to hold a map the right way up…"

At the non-sequitur, Syed looked at him as if he was losing the plot. "Does… this have a point? Or is it just a really weird way of kicking me when I'm down?"

"Yes. The point is the night before your exam, you were panicking. Because you hadn't revised. Everything else came so easily to you, and this was the one subject you'd always struggled with… but instead of revising that little bit harder, because you were so scared of failing, you avoided it until the last minute, until it was too late and you were past the point of no return."

"This is a really rubbish point, Dad. I got an A in Geography," he reminded him.

"Just because you ended up with the grade you wanted, that doesn't justify the avoidance of the revision…" his father said.

"Can we stop using the National Curriculum as code, please?" Syed replied, annoyed.

"Fine. Just because you and Christian are happy, and you… moving away gave your mother and I some much-needed perspective, it doesn't justify you running away."

"I didn't _run away_, he was leaving and I…" he started, without much conviction.

"You really couldn't have convinced him to stay?" Masood asked, sceptically. "Even though you were the only reason he was leaving?"

"I didn't want to rub your noses in it," he said, quietly.

"Look at you. Still making excuses a decade later. The reasons might have changed, but you're still the scared little boy who doesn't want to look at his textbook in case he doesn't understand it."

"I'm not trying to _excuse_ anything, Dad. I'm trying to _explain_. Why do you always assume I'm trying to wriggle off a hook?"

"It's your default setting?" his father replied with false brightness.

"I've changed."

Masood's eyebrows lifted. "Really? That why you're going home tomorrow?"

"I've got a job to get back to. A life to go back to. Some _actual happiness_ to get back to," Syed said. "Don't get me wrong, Dad. Really, I… I love you, all of you, and I miss you so much but…"

"It's easier up there?" he suggested.

He averted his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.

"This is what I mean, Syed," his father replied, with all traces of anger gone from his voice. "It isn't about the _easy_ thing, it's about the _right_ thing."

Syed lifted his head. "What was the right thing?" he asked, more from curiosity than anything else. As far as he was concerned, his situation had been a catch-22 with no good way out.

"Sticking around, for a start."

Syed shook his head, looking straight ahead, watching a young boy chase after a girl, for a couple of moments, envying their innocence. "And risk everyone finding out? Bushra and her crew? Bring shame on the entire family?" he said. "I… don't know if what I did was right, but… I couldn't live a lie anymore. I couldn't sit there and pretend that everything was going to be okay, that ending things with Christian hadn't broken my heart. I'd done everything Mum had asked of me, I stayed away from him. I got on with my job. But she still looked at me like I disgusted her. You could barely stand to look at me. And every time I saw Amira, I felt so guilty… then I heard Christian was leaving, it was like a switch flipped. The thought of losing him _forever_, it was… unbearable. I didn't mean to abandon the family, I didn't even think about it properly."

"We would have dealt with it," Masood said.

"I didn't want you to _have _to deal with it, though. I thought I was sparing you…"

"She cried for days after you left, your mother. She was never the same after. Every time the phone rang, her ears pricked up and she was always disappointed when it wasn't you. I swear, sometimes, she would have found a phone call from Christian a relief."

"With the baby and with Tamwar getting into Oxford, I thought she would have… coped," Syed said. "Better than that, anyway."

"Right, with the baby looking the spitting image of you, and you being missing from all of Tamwar's celebrations. That cheered her right up. Fit as a fiddle, she was."

"It's one thing caring about someone when they're not around. It's totally different. I would have upset her more by being in Walford with Christian. People would have found out…"

"People already know," his dad interrupted.

"People already have their _suspicions_. I bet they wouldn't dare actually accuse Mum of having reared a gay son," he said. "No-one in Albert Square cares, anyway. But if I'd stayed, people would have talked, and it would've got back to someone whose opinion Mum actually cares about. At least if I was out of the way, and there was no official confirmation of anything, it could stay a _rumour_."

"You thought that far ahead?" his father asked, disbelievingly.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But it's still true. You made it perfectly clear the family was better off without me, anyway."

"Can you blame me?"

Syed kicked a Coke can that he found under the bench. In the quiet, the sound of it hitting the pavement echoed loudly. "Of course I don't."

"Syed, you're my son… I did miss you. Being around you is not the easiest thing I've ever experienced, admittedly…"

"Then don't worry about it. This time tomorrow, I'll be out of your hair."

"Like I said before, it's not about the easy thing, it's about the right thing."

"And what is 'the right thing'?" Syed asked. 'The right thing' had always been that elusive object that he had never found, not through lack of trying.

"Well, I don't think it's losing all contact with you is it. Do you?"

"You know, there are tons of people who'd disagree with you there."

"I don't think I care," he said. "Look, I don't think… I don't think we're ever going to have an easy relationship. But we've never had an easy relationship, have we?"

"That's an understatement."

"But if you're willing to try, then I am, too. No promises, but… it's something."

Syed smiled broadly. "I can try."

"No more going off for two years with no contact, all right? For a relationship to be worked at, it has to exist," he said. He ran his hands through his hair before continuing, "I just want you to know, Syed, it was never because you were gay."

"I already know."

"Don't get me wrong, I wasn't _happy_, but it's not something you get a choice in. I just… I just wish that our relationship had been in a condition where you could have told me. I know you could never have told your mother, but I never had a problem with homosexuality, Syed. I could have helped you."

"You were so proud of me for getting married and settling down. I… didn't want to let you down again."

"Like I said, I really wish you could have come to me, regardless."

"I put myself in the position, though, didn't I? By stealing the money. I mean, I know we never had the greatest relationship, but at least you wouldn't have been actively mistrusting me if I hadn't done that."

"You being gay wouldn't have let me down, Syed. You dragging that poor girl into this mess and you lying to us for years, _that _let me down. If you'd come to me, like a man, and said that you were gay…"

"What would you have done? Patted me on the back and said 'it's okay, son, we'll just get excluded from the community because you like boys'? I couldn't have expected you to do that. I wouldn't have wanted that in a thousand years, no matter how bad it got for me."

"You would at least have had someone to talk to," Masood said.

"I had Christian."

"Yeah, I somehow doubt he had much insight into the subtleties of Islam."

"I'm sure you had tons of insight into homosexuality," he replied. "Dad, I… most of the time, I didn't know where my head was at. I spent _years_ thinking that I wasn't gay, that it was just a phase… a test that God had sent me to strengthen my faith, and I would be rewarded. Except then I was eighteen, then I was twenty, then I was twenty-four and I still didn't like women, nothing had changed, I didn't feel like I was getting anything out of denying it. Then I fell in love with Christian and… it took me completely by surprise. I'd never been in love before, and I didn't know what to do. It was _wrong _and I knew it, but I couldn't stop. It didn't… it didn't _feel _wrong. Dad, even if we'd been a different sort of father and son, I don't think I could have explained to you how I was feeling. I was such a mess back then."

"You could have _tried_ to explain it to me. You know, Syed, my record isn't exactly spotless. I understand choosing love over your faith."

Syed managed to force himself to look directly at his father, "Mum?"

"Shockingly enough, falling in love with a married woman is hardly good conduct."

"It's different, though," Syed said, insistently.

"Is it? When it comes down to it, your mother and I chose each other over our culture, over our religion. You did the same," he said. "You just had the good fortune not to have to face the consequences your mother did."

"Good fortune has nothing to do with it. Keeping schtum has. I mean, I know no-one over here's going to set fire to the house or anything, but the community would still… _all of us _would have to face the consequences. Facing the consequences for something you didn't do seems completely unfair. I mean, Dad, don't you think, in a way, it's best if I stay away for good?"

"Your mother missed you too much. Syed, coming to visit a couple of times a year is hardly going to give you away. Unless you come to events dressed like that bloke out of _Little Britain_."

"Those are tough conditions, Dad. I'll have to buy some new clothes. I've only got a limited amount of 'Mum-approved clothing'. Two weeks' worth, in fact, " he said, gesturing down at his t-shirt and jeans. "The hot pants will have to go."

His father chuckled. "I mean it. Just come up and see us now and again, for Eid and things. You do still practice Ramadan?"

"Of course I do. What sort of question is that?"

"You're away from home, it wouldn't be surprising…"

"I've done it since before I can remember, I'm hardly going to stop now," he said, feeling like a child being asked if he'd eaten all his vegetables.

"So, old habits die hard?"

Syed shrugged. "In a way, I guess."

"Syed, do you still believe?"

"Honestly? There have been times, where I've doubted… not Allah, but my faith. I sometimes think my faith isn't strong enough, that if I'd tried harder, things would be different. _I _would be different. But most of the time, my faith is as rock solid as it's always been. Allah made me this way for a purpose, and maybe I figured the purpose out wrong. Maybe I've failed Him. I'm just going to live my life, and let Him judge me when the time comes. In the meanwhile, I'm just going to try to be the best Muslim I can be in every other aspect of my life."

"I think… I think that's all I can ask of you."

"Do you think I have, though? Failed Him?"

"We all have, in different ways. Nobody's perfect, Syed. We've all messed up, committed sins. He understands that."

"But do you think I've _seriously _messed up? Like one-way ticket to hell messed up?" His voice went quiet at the word 'hell'.

Masood shook his head. "I don't know. Nobody knows but Him."

Syed nodded.

"But, personally, I think that there's a major difference between sinning for the hell of it, and sinning and repenting and trying to make it right and failing at it."

"It's getting dark," Syed said, looking up at the cloudy sky.

"Still scared of it?" Masood asked, jovially.

A memory came back to him. The bulb had burned out in his nightlight, and his mum had been in the hospital having Tamwar. He'd been so terrified, he couldn't move, or call out for help. His father had noticed the complete darkness coming from the room, and had tried to find a bulb to replace it, but couldn't. So he'd come into the room, and told him a story. He couldn't remember the story, now, but his father had stayed with him for ages, telling the same story over and over, until Syed had fallen asleep. He'd never been scared of the dark after that.

"No, someone helped me with that," he replied, smiling.

"I need to get back home."

"Me too."

"Like I said before, you should come to visit."

"I will, I promise."


	12. Chapter 12

_This chapter is kind of filler-y, since I haven't got any of my notes and all the major flashbacks that have already been written are on my laptop which has been getting repaired for getting on two months now . It's also majorly dialogue-heavy, even more so than usual, and is nearly entirely Christian/Syed (oh no, I can hear you yell). But God knows I enjoyed writing it, so, to hell with it._

_Also, ALL of this chapter has been written in the past couple of days, which is highly unusual, most of the chapters have had stuff written months in advance (ergo why Roxy's pregnant with Dr. Al's baby and Syed's pretty friendly with Lucy early on). If you notice any inconsistencies with previous chapters that I've missed, sorry for that! I've reread the stuff posted so far (not narcissism- research purposes, when you've lost all your notes!) but I sometimes get confused between what has/what hasn't been posted. So, yeah, apologies if I've missed anything in the regard._

_Also, sorry in advance, Indie. I think the NYD talk infected me with its depression. But no nice Amira, promise (that's next chapter bwahaha)! I don't think it's nearly-crying bad. It's just not very uplifting. And there are no hugs._

_February 2012 _

Syed woke up and managed to sit up without hitting his head off the wood above. Seventh time lucky. It was a nice note to end his last endurance of that bed on. It was probably the fact that he wasn't stuffed up in the corner thanks to Christian commandeering three-quarters of the bed probably helped with that, though. That was when he noticed that his neck was missing its normal crick from being forced to rest his head against the ladder connecting the bunks. Christian had been up for a while, clearly.

He walked into the living room , where he found Christian staring vacant-eyed at GMTV. "What are you doing up?"

"I decided to explore the joys of ITV at 3AM. What is it about deaf people that makes them only watch telly at that hour?" he asked. "I've always wondered that. What are you doing up?"

He lifted the hand with his prayer mat in it by way of response.

"You're kidding. It can't be that la..." He glanced at his watch, then actually noticed what was on the screen. "Well, look at that. Must've gotten some kip after all."

Syed squinted at his face, concerned. "You don't look like you got much."

"Told you, I couldn't sleep," he said, through a yawn. "Decided to get up and do some packing."

Syed looked around, and noticed the two suitcases in exactly the same place as they had been the night before, except open. "I hate to be pedantic but you... haven't done any packing. Opening a suitcase is not packing."

"It's a start, though," he replied, mock-brightly.

Syed sighed. "This is like the time you were 'decorating' by opening a tin of paint, isn't it?"

"That paint was hideous. And who did most of the work once you actually picked a colour that didn't make me want to claw my eyes out?"

"And what's wrong with the suitcases? Don't match your dressing gown?"

"I...got distracted."

"Look, it's not like we've brought much. We can do it when I get back from Mum's. It'll take five minutes."

"I didn't _want _to pack."

Syed frowned. "You just said you did."

"I mean... look, the reason I couldn't sleep, was I kept thinking of something you said to me once."

_February 2010_

Since he'd told him to stay away, Christian had. His fingers had lingered over pressing _call _so many times, and he'd walked past the Masoods' more slowly than any other house on the street, so tempted to knock. It was hardly respect for Zainab or Masood that stopped him in his tracks, though. He just didn't want to upset Syed any further. But he was getting worried now. It was the longest he'd gone without seeing him since- well, since they'd met. When Jane had mentioned in passing that she was snowed under down at the Unit, because Masood and Zainab were 'elsewhere'- given the lack of specificity, the implication was that they didn't want to share the same oxygen as any Clarke DNA- his ears had pricked up, and he couldn't help going down to see how Syed was holding up.

Jane noticed the look on his face. "Don't you _dare_. After all the trouble you've caused..."

"I just want... _need_ to see how he is, Jane. Look, if I wanted to cause trouble, I'd go down there, all guns blazing, while Masood and Zainab were there, wouldn't I? And I'm not. Look, I couldn't give a crap what they think of me, but Syed does. That's enough for me not to want to cause trouble, Jane. Just... give me half-an-hour before coming down, yeah? And ring me if there's any sign of them, yeah?"

She sighed, and covered her face with her hands. "Fine. _Fine_. Thirty minutes. Thirty. And as far as I'm concerned, I slept in. The last thing we need is full-out war. You know how Ian gets with feuds. He'd destroy the business before admitting his side was wrong."

Christian smiled sadly. "I promise this won't take long."

"Christian?" Jane called after him, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yeah?" he said, still facing the door.

"Is there even the slightest possibility you could ever just... leave this alone?"

"You know I can't." He paused. "I do love him, Jane. This isn't like you said before."

"I know you do. You think I'd be aiding and abetting you to do this if I didn't?"

"I'll see you later, all right?"

"Twenty-seven minutes, Christian," she called after him.

As he rushed down the stairs of the Unit, he was thinking, technically speaking, he hadn't _actually _been fired. But he thought sleeping with the son of the Muslim partners of the business pretty much involved immediate grounds for dismissal. It was hardly like he was going to go to a tribunal for unfair dismissal. He was confident his failing to turn up to work wasn't a source of complaint in Zainab's eyes any longer. He stood back for a few seconds, watching Syed working methodically, without any enthusiasm. And he was fairly sure staring into space and a sharp knife was _not _going to end well. Instead of calling out and startling him, potentially leading to _actual _bloodshed- though they'd come close in the last couple of days- he just walked up to him and gently took the knife from him.

Syed started. "When did you get here?"

"Just," he assured him. "I figured given how many times you've cut yourself whilst paying full attention, doing it while staring at the incredibly fascinating wall would be unwise."

"Yeah. I shouldn't even be here, really. I'm sure I'm breaking some sort of employment law operating sharp objects while functioning on three hours' worth of interrupted sleep in three days. But it's better than being alone..."

Christian watched his face carefully, looking for any sign of anger, but found nothing but a mixture of tiredness and sadness and guilt. Even more so than usual. "I've been wanting to ring you, and... I just thought I should leave you alone for a bit. Get your head together, you know."

"Yeah, it was probably for the best. I didn't mean to...when I... it wasn't you I was angry at. You know that, right?"

Christian shrugged. "I wasn't exactly being Mr. Understanding. You were upset. I get it."

"I didn't... everything's such a mess. How did I let things get here? I don't remember."

He covered his face with his hands and slid to the ground as if he no longer had to strength to keep himself upright. He rested his back against the counter and looked up at Christian. It was only when the fluorescent lights hit him directly like this that Christian truly appreciated how utterly exhausted he looked. He'd seen Syed look upset before, stressed beyond belief, angry, heartbroken, but never so defeated. The look on his face was one he imagined that terminally ill people had on theirs when they were tired of fighting. And he looked so, so young. Christian often forgot about the age gap, but it was hard to ignore when he was towering over him, and Syed looked so vulnerable.

"Christian, I'm just tired," he whispered. His head was bowed towards the floor, and he was picking a non-existent thread out of his jeans. "God knows, I'm just so tired of hurting everyone I love."

Christian looked down at him for a moment, before sitting down beside him. Syed froze when their legs made contact. "You... you can't help being what you are," Christian reminded him gently.

Syed lifted his head, but just stared forward, not turning to look at him. "I can help hurting people."

"Amira? Maybe. Your family? Not so much. Look, face it, Sy, you could have sat your mother down the first time you were having 'thoughts' and told her flat out... it wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference. She would have reacted the same way."

"Not so badly, though," Syed pointed out.

"Really? I don't know. The issue your mother has isn't how she found out, it's you being gay. That would never have changed. And your dad? Well, he was never going to make a public announcement of it, was he?"

"It would've been better if I'd stayed away," he admitted, an intensity belying the quietness of his voice. He still couldn't bring himself to look at him directly. Christian thought, or at least hoped, that just knowing that he was beside him was comfort enough for Syed.

"With your mum missing you like mad, and your dad having all this built-up resentment? Yeah, sounds like a good plan, that," Christian said.

"And now Mum won't even care enough to miss me and Dad's got even more resentment. Great thinking that was. You know, I keep thinking, I should just... leave. Make it easier for everyone. But that's the coward's way out, right? I can't just get up and leave after everything I've done. It's my mess, I've got to clean it up."

Christian hesitated for a few moments before replying, "There's... some things you can't clean up, Sy."

"I know," he said, his voice tinged with regret.

"You know, I'm still here."

"So you are. What's up with that?" Syed asked, and Christian could see his lips curling slightly out of the corner of his eye. "You a masochist or something?"

Christian wasn't going to let him make a joke out of it. "You know why. I love you."

Syed paused for a long, awkward moment. Any trace of a smile was entirely gone from his face. This silence and discomfort after those three words was hardly unfamiliar to Christian. He'd come to expect it. One day, he'd actually _say _it. "Yeah, masochist's the word." Not today, though.

"And you're _not_?" Christian asked incredulously. "I mean, sticking around Walford..."

"What're you saying?" Syed snapped. "Are you saying I should just run off, abandon my family?"

Christian took his hand before correcting him with, "_We_."

"I can't," he said, but didn't separate their now-joined hands. "I need to..."

"Fix the things you broke?" Christian asked. "Hate to say it, but maybe they're beyond fixing. A little downtime... cooling-off period isn't going hurt anyone, is it?"

Syed rolled his eyes. "Except, you know, everyone. _You_ can't just leave your family."

"They'll _understand_," he insisted, his voice slightly pleading now.

"Really," Syed replied sceptically. "Lucy and Jane will just be _thrilled _you're running off with me, you're right. "

He paused to consider the validity of that statement. "Well, no. I don't care, Syed."

"Maybe you ought to," he bit out.

"I do," he insisted. "Of course I care about them. I just... right now, you're more important to me. You need someone. You need me."

Syed tore his hand away and stood up. "I _need_ to get out of here."

Christian rose to his feet as well, standing behind him. "Desperate to get home to the awkward silences, and sideways resentful looks, are we?"

He didn't turn back to face Christian, his next sentence was delivered to the wall. "Running away would solve nothing, Christian."

Christian shrugged. "Never said it would."

Syed spun on his heel to face him. "Running off into the sunset?" Syed asked, half-sneering. "Is that seriously what you picture for us?"

"No..."

"Yeah, yeah, it is. You imagine that getting me away from Mummy and Daddy will solve everything. Everything will just be magically better when Mum's not whispering how _badnaughtywrong _it is in my ear. Well, it won't. I'm still going to be Muslim, I'm still going to be _me_. It's not like it'll magically fix everything."

"I never said it would. I just said. I just think it would be better for everyone..."

"Better for _you_, you mean."

"Everyone includes me, yeah, but I'm not... I'm thinking of you in this."

"Me _with you_. God, you don't change, do you? It's just... you just don't understand."

"Maybe I don't," Christian acquiesced.

"This thing we have, whatever it is, it doesn't define _me_."

"But it defines me?"

"You put it before your family," Syed pointed out.

"I put you before my family. My family doesn't need me..." He trailed off, realising how that sounded. Realising how Syed would take the implication that he was in any way dependent on Christian.

He snorted. "And I do? What? Do you think I can't live without you? Give me a _break_," he

"I didn't... I mean..." he stopped, considering. "They've all got each other, they'll be fine."

Syed scrubbed his hands over his face, agitated. "And I'm just, what? On my own?"

"Well, your family's hardly the Waltons at the moment, are they?" Christian snapped.

"And whose fault is _that_?"

Christian scoffed. "You're seriously blaming me."

Syed shook his head emphatically, and his face softened. "I'm blaming _me_. Christian, this isn't just going to go away with a couple of weeks in the Lake District, or whatever it is you've got in your head."

"It wasn't. That wasn't what I meant in the slightest and you know it.

"I'm staying here, with my family. I'm going to fix this."

"Yeah, well, good luck with _that_," Christian spat.

The door slamming shut behind him echoed off the office walls. The next time Christian saw him, it would be two weeks later and Syed would be telling him to give up all hope.

_February 2012 _

Christian sighed. "Look, do you remember that time just after your parents found out about... us?"

"Well, you'll have to be a bit more specific..." Syed asked, confused.

"That... conversation we had in the Unit, I mean. A couple of days after."

"Yeah, I remember," Syed said, scratching his nose, uncomfortable. "You were right. Unfixable as it turned out."

"You imply I'm ever wrong."

"That's true. Christian the Infallible was your nickname as a kid, right?"

His eyebrows lifted ."One of many."

"I don't think I want to know."

"You could probably guess most of them. I'll tell you later."

"Great. I can't wait," he drawled. "Look, Christian, whatever I said... you can't take it to heart. You know the state I was in back then..."

" No, it wasn't anything hurtful. Well, not really. I was just talking about... you said, I ought to put my family first. And I think you were right about that. I think I should."

Syed frowned. "Well, you can visit as much as you'd like. I mean, I know we're not exactly awash with cash since we bought the car but..."

"Okay, when did this whole 'we' business come into the car?" he burst in. "If I remember correctly, I came home one day and it was parked outside. I'm not even allowed to drive it."

Syed shook his head, pityingly. "God, your memory really is deteriorating in old age... it's so sad. It's insured in both of our names."

"It is?"

"You filled the form out!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, but you told me that was because the payments were coming out of the joint back account. I really need to start reading things before I sign them. Could be signing up to be your slave or anything." He paused, brow creasing. "Wait. If it's insured in both of our names, how come I'm not allowed to drive it?"

Syed looked at him as if he was stupid."Because you're a terrible driver! I only put your name on the insurance forms- despite it pushing our premiums up a ridiculous level, by the way- in case of an emergency!"

"I am not," Christian said, genuinely offended. "That's slander."

"Are too," Syed replied, with much grace and maturity. "Seriously, is there a pothole you've ever missed? And you _do _realise the national speed limits apply to _everyone_, right? You've got about eleven points on your licence."

"Look, just because some of us don't sit at a perfectly perpendicular angle when we're driving, with our hands exactly on the 10 and 2 at all times..." he said. "Also, most of those points were for drunk driving, not speeding. And I got them _years _ago."

"I do not sit at a perfectly perpendicular angle..." Syed started to point out.

"Please. If someone drew an outline of you while you were driving, the outline could serve as an L-plate for learner drivers."

"Look, just because I am a _perfect _driver in every which way does not diminish the fact that you're a terrible driver, and any person who respects human life would try to minimise your road use as much as physically possible..."

"Look, _anyway_, regardless of whether or not I'm a terrible driver-it's fairly self-evident I am _not_, by the way- I just think...visiting's not enough."

Syed frowned, humour fading from his face. "What?"

"I think... I mean, I'd like for us to stay here."

Syed stared at him, wide-eyed. "In Walford?"

"Yeah? That _is_ where 'here' is," Christian said, bemused by Syed's pointing out the obvious.

"...with my parents right across the street?"

"Last time I checked, that's where your parents lived."

"...where pretty much everyone has figured out we're together?"

"That's right."

"You're... joking, right?" Syed asked incredulously.

"It's not a very funny one if I am, is it? My sister has _cancer _and..."

"She's got a husband, and three kids, and a bunch of friends. You can visit her whenever you want! I'll drive you up! God forbid, I'd even lend you the car if I had to work." He hesitated, reconsidering. "Actually, you can just get the train."

"I just... I want to be here for her all the time," Christian whispered.

"You don't _need_ to be, though," he insisted.

"I... I haven't been here for nearly two years. I think I owe her being here for a few weeks until this is sorted."

"I get that you're feeling bad, Christian. But she's got a family and friends, it's not like she's been lonely the past couple of years, it it?"

"I know, you're right. I just... she called me up here. She obviously wants me here."

"But... I can't stay here, Christian. I promised work I'd be back _tomorrow_."

Christian covered his face with his hands. "Get a transfer! You're always moving about to accommodate _them, _maybe it's time for them to return the favour."

"I need to give them more than a _day_," he reminded him. "Anyway, I was hardly doing that out of the goodness of my heart, was I? I _wanted _to move about."

"You know what we were doing all that time? Moving about? We were looking for somewhere to call_ home_. Coming back here... it's _home_."

"Leeds is home," Syed replied, sounding rather petulant.

"No, it's not. Not for me."

"And here _is_? Where everyone knows all our business?"

"See, that's the thing, Syed," he replied. "I don't care about that."

"You _know_ how uncomfortable it makes me. I told you when we first moved away..."

"You mean after that awful party with some of the ugliest people I've ever seen in my life?"

"Yeah, the one that you forced me to go to. I was reluctant because it actually involved us leaving the flat for reasons other than avoiding bedsores?"

"I should've known it was a bad idea, involving us in a situation that involved leaving that dingy hole of a flat for more than five minutes."

_April 2010 _

Christian stormed into the flat, seething. He'd have slammed the door behind him, if he wasn't so concerned about it disintegrating at being closed with anything but the utmost gentleness. Syed followed, trying not to show his annoyance at what was clearly an insane overreaction to not taking someone's hand in public.

"What is your _problem_?" Christian demanded.

"I haven't _got _a problem," he replied. "I'm not the one storming out of places and making all of our neighbours think you're _insane_."

"You love me, right?"

"Come on. What sort of question is that?"

"Then why can't you _show_ it?" Christian asked.

"You always say what other people think doesn't matter. I think what's between you and me should stay that way. I don't understand your problem with that."

"Because you are still ashamed of who you are."

"I'm not ashamed of us," Syed said, sincerely.

Some of the anger went out of him at the genuine feeling behind that sentence. "But you're ashamed of _you_," Christian replied. "That's half of us."

"I don't get what the big deal is, Christian. Just me being here with you, that shows how much I care about you. I left my whole family, my life, so I could be with you. And you're getting a stick up your rear end 'cos I don't want to play kissy-face in public?"

"That's not what I want," Christian told him.

"Then what do you want? Me to wear a sign? 'Property of Christian Clarke'? Or, hey, let's tie ourselves together, so we'll never be apart."

The anger flooded right back on in. "Stop being _stupid_. All I want..."

"What? What do you want from me?"

"Just leave it, yeah?" he snapped.

"They always say don't go to bed angry. Well, don't go to _sleep_ angry. Something like that. I've gone to _bed _angry plenty of times..."

"I'm not angry."

"Funny, 'cos you're pouting and scowling."

"I'm not." Syed started doing an incredibly exaggerated version of Christian's facial expressions. Christian could feel his anger melting into laughter, and he really didn't want it to. "Pack it in, Syed, this isn't fun..." He gave up, and had to let the laughter quaking in his throat escape.

Syed beamed at him. He sat down on the bed beside him. "Christian, I love you. But... I'm not like you. I care what other people think. I know I shouldn't give a crap, but I do. And the last thing I want is for this... the most important thing in my life... is for people to be judging it, judging us, passing comment on it... I want it to be between us. And I'm sorry. I really am. I just... can't change who I am. And I'll never be comfortable with it. It's not about you, it's about me and I... it's just not me. Can you understand that?"

"Yeah."

Syed tilted his head to one side. "No, you don't."

"I don't, but I... I'll respect it. Just don't expect me to hide who I am."

Syed rolled his eyes, good-naturedly. "As if you could if you tried."

"What exactly are you trying to imply here? I'm the shy and retiring sort."

"It is one of your most attractive qualities. Along with your modesty and sense of decorum..."

"You know me so well."

Syed wrapped his arms around his neck, smiling. "Oh! Not to forget your incredibly low sex drive. I mean, really, you're practically asexual."

Christian placed his hands over Syed's arms. "And you're so _demanding_. I think you've got a problem," he said, in the low voice of a confidante.

"You're right. I might have to start looking elsewhere." He looked over his shoulder, towards the door. "Maybe I'll go back to the party..."

Christian laughed. "Did you see the people there? Seriously? They wouldn't look out of place on Jeremy Kyle."

"Well, I dunno. Compared with you, everyone looks like a Jeremy Kyle guest to me."

"That is the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. Really, I don't know how I'm holding back the tears. Choked up here," he said, wiping away non-existent tears.

"I know. I've got such a way with words."

Christian smiled, looking up at him. "I love you."

"Ugh, you're just saying that to guilt-trip me to stop me returning to that party and having my wicked way with all the beauties there."

"You fancying a game 'catch the STD'?"

Syed grinned. "It's good to share."

There was a loud crashing sound from the kitchen that was becoming a common occurrence. Christian gave it a cursory glance- he was too used to things falling apart to give it too much attention. "We've got to get out of here soon."

"That would involve getting a job. Which would involve leaving this cesspit _on a regular basis_. I don't know if I can manage that yet."

"Eh, let's wait. Maybe if we catch enough diseases from our fellow houseguests and from breathing the air, we'll become superheroes."

"I don't see any radioactive spiders.."

"If they're anywhere, they're in this building."

"We do need to move," Syed said, getting a second wind of the smell. He'd mostly gotten used to it- that mixture of dog excrement and stale urine, but sometimes it still hit him with enough force to make him gag.

"One day. One day soon. But, you, me, a roof over our head... that'll do me for now."

"Me too." He looked up at the ceiling, which was looking increasingly less stable by the day. He wrinkled his nose. "Maybe we could invest in some nose plugs, though."

_February 2012 _

"See, there, even though, God knows, it _was _a dingy hole, we had the option of being able to... keep ourselves to ourselves away from here!

Christian regarded him sceptically. "Are you seriously saying STDville was more home than Walford?"

"Well... no. But you know what it had that Walford didn't? The absence of my mother. That's got to be a major selling point for you."

"You can tell you're an estate agent. I won't be forever, Sy. Just 'til Jane's all right."

"I'm not an esta... what do you mean 'just' 'til Jane's better? How long's that going to be?"

"Well." He hesitated. "I don't know that, do I?"

"What about _your _job?" Syed reminded him.

"I don't _care_! That's the point, Sy. The _only_ thing I've cared about the past two years has been you."

Something like realisation dawned on Syed's face. "This is about what Jane said yesterday, isn't it?"

"No," Christian said, too quickly. "No, of course it isn't."

"Say it twice, that'll make it believable," Syed drawled. "Look, Jane can say whatever she likes, what's between you and me... it's between you and me. Who cares what other people think?"

"I don't!" Christian exclaimed.

"You obviously do. You've been a right misery since you came back from the hospital. I thought it was just because of your sister but with all this talk..."

"It's just... you've got this job that you care about a lot, that you're _good _at, that you don't mind getting out of bed for. You've got your faith. You're... you're _not _defined by this relationship."

"Really? That's what you're worried about? So this isn't about proving to Jane you won't get separation anxiety if I leave?"

"Syed, you're being ridiculous," Christian replied, unconvincingly.

"I'm really not. Christian, _who cares_ what she thinks of our relationship? You've always been the one who said nobody else matters."

"I _don't_ care!"

"Then why are you acting like this?" Syed asked. "Come on, you weren't worried in the slightest about 'defining yourself' 'til yesterday."

"I'm not acting like anything."

"You're pushing me away. Or trying to, at least."

"That's a good one," Christian retorted.

"…what?"

"Coming from you, the expert on pushing _me_ away."

Syed's glance slid away from him for a moment. "That was a long time ago."

"Sy, I am not pushing you away."

"Then what are you doing, exactly? Trying to get me to appreciate your normal behaviour by acting like this? 'Cause, you know, I already do."

"I just want to stay here a bit longer, with my sister, who's ill. Is that a crime now?"

"No. Of course not. I... just don't want to stay here."

Christian had to admit to himself it hurt hearing those words. It had been a very long time since he and Syed had disagreed about something as fundamental as this. "Then you should go. Seriously, Sy, it's not going to kill you, or me, to spend a bit of time apart."

"But my mum…" he started.

"I don't care and I'm the one who has to put up with her, yeah? You need to go back to work."

"So do you," Syed pointed out, but Christian could tell he was just saying things to say them, rather than actually trying to convince Christian.

"I told you, I don't _care_ about my job. Which is actually quite scary when you think about it."

"What do you mean?" Syed asked quietly.

"I… used to _care _about things, Sy. Like my job. Now, I don't."

"You care about your sister and Roxy your nephew and, God knows why, but your niece and brother-in-law…"

"_People_, yeah. People I sort of _have_ to care about. I don't really get a choice in it. Everything I do get a choice in… it's just sort of faded to nothing, you know? Like, you, you've got your faith and your job, and what have I got, Syed? I've got you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said, laughing nervously.

"It's not. Of course it's not. I _love _you. I really, really love you. It's just... I always chose you over everything."

"I did the same with you. In case you didn't notice."

"Of course I did. But… it was almost easy for me, to throw it all away. You spent so long struggling and fighting it and trying with your family, but I just… dropped it all without a second thought, Sy."

"Because your family would still keep in contact. You could visit. Choosing to leave, it wasn't like it was for me. I gave up my family for you, properly. That's the difference. That's why it was so hard for me. I thought… I thought I'd never see them again, or they'd never want to see me, anyway."

"But I _didn't_ visit them, did I?" Christian asked. "That's the thing. _They _always had to make the effort..."

"You did that for me, though," Syed reminded him. "Just to spare my feelings."

"There were days I barely even thought about them, Sy," Christian admitted.

"That's natural, though. You can't think about your family every minute of every day."

"Could you say that about your family?"

"Voluntarily leaving your family because you're hurting is entirely different to break off all contact with them to run off with a _bloke_ who's twelve years older than you and is called _Christian_," Syed told him. Christian had to laugh. "Of course I thought about them a lot. I felt _so_ guilty, I couldn't help it. You had no reason to."

"I just think... I should be here for my family. Obviously you need to get home, real life and all that, but I'm just saying, as well, time apart isn't going to kill either of us."

"Look, just tell me here, are you saying we should take a break?"

"No, no, no. God, no. I'm just proposing… phone sex."

"Time apart sounds like a 'break'," he said quietly.

"It's not. So if you sleep with anyone else, don't try any of that 'we were on a break' crap with me."

"Right, that sounds like me," Syed replied.

"I know you've had your eye on Charlie Slater, you can't hide from me," Christian said. "Look, you've got a job to get back to. I've got a sister to look after. It'll be a few days, and then it's the weekend. I can come down, or you can come up."

"You should come down. I'm sick of the sight of this place already," he said, then a sad look crossed over his face. "Haven't you missed home? Even a bit?"

"That's the thing, Sy," he said. "It's not home to me, is it? Not properly."

Syed smiled, fondly. "And you say you don't care enough about things? You are attached to this hellhole for some godforsaken reason."

"You ever wonder why we move about so much, though?" Christian asked.

"I have. Not as much as you, evidently." He spread his hands out in front him. "Enlighten me."

"We're trying to find another Walford."

"That's probably true. I'm sure this place exerts some sort of gravitational pull. Nobody seems to be able to stay away permanently."

"It's obviously the great night life," Christian said. "The Vic's theme nights- the social event of the season."

"Or the ridiculously high death rate. Maybe Walford attracts a lot of suicidal people?"

Christian considered it. "That… would explain some of the behaviour."

Syed smiled gently. "I'm not ready to live here for any sort of long-term period, Christian. Maybe… in time. One day. When my relationship is better with my parents. But I… not yet."

"It's okay, Sy. We'll work something out. It's just 'til Jane's coping better."

"Yeah. " Syed looked at the light streaming in through the window. "Oh, crap, I need to go pray. I haven't even had a shower yet."

"Better get a shift on then," Christian told him.

"We'll talk about this later, yeah? I promised Mum I'd do one last shift and go over there for a meal and stuff."

"Yeah, I'm going to see Jane, see if she's feeling any better. See if I can do anything to help out, you know."

"Right, see you later."

"We'll sort something out," Syed called over his shoulder.

Christian smiled to himself. "We always do."


	13. Chapter 13

_I apologise once again for the long wait. But this is a long one, nearly entirely Christian and Syed and has flashbacks to the period I haven't explored insofar- that two-year period after they leave Walford. Nothing much else to say, really, except I hope it was worth the wait. _

_February 2012 _

Syed was standing at the door, looking uncomfortable, with the strap of his worn duffel bag thrown so haphazardly over his shoulder that Christian had an urge to pull it so it settled correctly, but didn't because he was, thankfully, not Syed's mother. Syed's mouth opened and closed several times, probably imperceptibly to anyone else, but Syed's 'attempting to say something, but not actually being able to say it' expressions were some of the most familiar to him.

"I'll ring you when I get home, yeah?" he said, finally, and Christian almost sighed out of relief that the seemingly endless silence had been broken. It was strange hearing a singular pronoun so close to the word _home_. It reminded him of what Syed had said that morning, by way of a mistake, when he'd spoken of going to say goodbye to his parents. The sentence had, by Christian's estimation, been _'I'm going home to say bye to Mum and Dad_' or something along those lines, but Syed had stopped dead after 'to', realising his error, and had looked most pained by the mistake. He'd looked on the verge of apologising, before he'd realised Christian wasn't bothered by an old habit dying hard.

"Okay," he replied, innovatively.

Syed scuffed his foot along the floor, in a manner that made him look like a fourteen-year-old meeting his first date's parents. "And I'll see you... when I see you, I guess."

"Yeah."

It was a discomforting sentence, far more than it should have been. Most couples spent time apart, sometimes an indeterminate length of time, and didn't suffer for it. Some even relished in it, which Christian couldn't even _picture_. The only exception he could think of were those really creepy, possessive ones that came on _Maury_ and never spent a minute apart and followed each other to the bathroom and had cameras and stuff set up so they could see each other even when they were apart. The degree of separation from _that _sort of couple from the sort of couple they actually were wasn't far enough.

They'd never really said a goodbye that wasn't either on bad terms or was referencing a matter of hours. So they stood for an awkward moment unsure what to do, before Christian wrapped his arms around him, and they stood there for what was, frankly, a ridiculous amount of time, short of one of them being conscribed into a war that entailed certain death. Syed managed to disentangle himself eventually and walked out without saying another word. It wasn't rudeness or anything. Christian knew Syed, and he knew if he'd said another word or stayed an extra second than he had, work would have suddenly seemed entirely insignificant. He, personally, while he didn't really like to admit it, only worked because he felt compelled to, and he knew Syed was the only reason they could keep their heads above water. They would've managed about the same without him working, it was just that he would've been bored mental sitting at home letting Syed keep him. Plus, he knew Syed's job was more than just that to him. That job was solid proof that running off with Christian hadn't completely destroyed his life and had even improved it in some ways. When Syed had something along these lines, Christian had been a bit hurt that he needed external proof of such a thing. However, when he thought about it, he realised how ridiculously petty it was to be hurt about something that made Syed feel more content about giving up everything he'd known before. It made him feel more content about living a life he never would have chosen for himself, about a life he'd carved out for Christian.

As he heard the external door slam shut, he couldn't help but think that this little exercise had done nothing but prove Jane absolutely and utterly right. And he had less of a problem with that than he'd initially thought.

_April 2010 _

Christian wondered how staring at someone staring at a ceiling could be endlessly fascinating. He found himself thinking about a lot of things- things that he'd never taken for granted because at any moment they could've been snatched away, which was no longer the case. He wondered if instead of finding that weird snuffly noise Syed sometimes made when he was deeply asleep adorable, he'd find it irritating. If the way that Syed was a total bed-hog despite being about a tenth of his size would stop being hilarious and he'd start minding freezing his arse off while Syed looked perfectly warm. If there'd ever be a day where he'd wake up with Syed beside him and not be grateful that things had finally, finally worked out.

"This room is disgusting," Syed declared, as if the damp had grown overnight, snapping Christian out of his daydream with a jolt.

Christian opened his mouth to say something, but then decided being compared to his mother was probably the last thing Syed needed right now. "It was disgusting last night too," he pointed out instead.

Syed looked at him as if he was the one who'd said something completely stupid. "It looks even more disgusting in the harsh light of day."

He glanced around. It _was _disgusting, but he'd barely noticed. Last night he'd been too exhausted to do anything but register the fact there was a bed with a mattress and pillows and then proceeded to collapse on it."Bit of a comedown, admittedly."

"Yeah."

"I've had worse, though," he offered, as if knowing there were more horrible places than this out there would somehow make Syed's- he would notcall it his 'Zainab disapproving face', he would _not_ calling it his 'Zainab disapproving face'- disgusted expression disappear.

Entirely unpredictably, Syed's frown deepened. "I don't even want to _know _places worse than this exist."

"You've lived a sheltered life, eh?"

Syed regarded the cracks in the wall with what could only be described as horror. While Christian had never been in Syed's bedroom at home, he could only imagine it was army-regulation neat and there certainly weren't insects going at it in the corner. "Thank God," Syed said.

"We've got to preserve our funds for something more... permanent," Christian reminded him gently. The word _permanent _resonated through him. It had never been a word he could associate with Syed before. He had to stop himself from smiling like a crazy person.

"Could we _really_ go crazy and get somewhere where we don't have to share the room with hundreds of other occupants?" Syed asked.

Christian shrugged. "Personally? I like the company."

Syed elbowed him in the ribs. "Shove it."

He rubbed his side as if Syed's skinny arms were capable of actually physically harming him. "No need to resort to violence."

Syed cocked to his head to the side, examining him closely. "Were you always this irritating or does the room bring it out of you?"

Christian threw up his arms. "Look, it's not like it _matters_. We'd have slept under a bridge last night, we were so knackered."

"A bridge would have been preferab-" Syed began, in an annoying whiny tone.

Christian rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop being such an old lady."

"I've _seen _your flat, okay? You could serve food off your floor," he said. "I _know_ you're dying on the inside."

Given the way he was lying rigidly on the bed as if it was preparing to bite him, it was hard to deny. "Just because lying on this quilt is making my flesh crawl does not mean a thing."

"Exactly," Syed said, brightly. "We're both old ladies."

The smile on Syed's face filled him with warmth, and Christian couldn't stop himself from leaning in to kiss him. It was funny how being victim to what could quite conceivably be flesh-eating bacteria hadn't managed to stir Syed from his position on the bed, but a display of affection moved him like someone had lit a fire underneath him. Syed clearly hadn't been expecting it. "What the hell are you doing? Does being called an old lady do things for you? If only I'd known..." The words came out as a tumble, and Syed looked _freaked-out_ like he hadn't been snogging his face off not twelve hours ago.

Rather than being angry or hurt by the rather overdramatic rejection, he was calm- he'd been expecting some weirdness. Just not _this_ sort of weirdness, necessarily, or quite this soon. He'd learned to be rather unsurprised by Syed's weirdness about _them_ by now, anyway. "What? Do I need a reason?" he asked, calmly.

There was a long pause before Syed laughed nervously, "No. Of course not. I just mean... come on, we can't do it _here_."

He tilted his head to one side, looking at him curiously. "Why? Are the cockroaches looking at you?" he asked.

"It's just..." He shivered and Christian was at least ninety-nine percent convinced it wasn't the idea of insects that made him do so. "I can't. I mean, _cockroaches_. I _can't_."

"How romantic of you," he drawled. "So much for being so madly swept away, you don't notice your surroundings."

"Look, ignoring the rain is one thing, ignoring what may or may not be bloodstains is quite another. Come on, do you really want _full skin contact _with that mattress?"

Christian felt compelled to give it a cursory glance, which was more than enough to see it was hardly an arousing sight. "No." Christian smiled. "Look, we haven't got much, I was just thinking of that. I'm sure we can find somewhere better, even with our limited funds."

Syed didn't relax an inch- his fists remained curled, his body tensed as if ready for attack- which assured Christian it wasn't the room that was his problem. Not that he'd thought that for a second, anyway, it was just always good to remember how terrible a liar Syed really was when it came down to it. "You're just saying that to get your leg over now," Syed accused him, trying for breeziness, but failing miserably.

"Yeah, probably," he said, with a shrug. He gave Syed a look with more emphasis than was required for a jokey question, "Why? Are you complaining?"

"I get a better room and you get...no, I'm not complaining."

***

They got a better room. It was hardly the Hilton, but it was clean, at least. The decoration was beyond awful, though, and he had to wonder if going blind was really preferable to filth. Christian could still see the brightness of the orange behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes, which he was fairly sure was not supposed to happen.

"Syed," he said, when they'd barely been in the room two minutes.

"Yeah?"

"Better room," he pointed out.

He kissed him gently. Syed returned it, disappointingly, in much the same manner before pulling back and fiddling with his duffel bag, which he ought to have expected. He had to be honest, if he'd pictured The Grand Reunion, it wouldn't have gone like this. It would have been epic and huge and dramatic and, most importantly, would have culminated in great, passionate sex. He hadn't worked out the finer details, but it certainly wouldn't have involved almost-declarations of love over an intercom, seemingly endless public transportation, counting pennies and paying for the best and hotel rooms they could afford, which meant they were either minging or badly-decorated. Mostly, it wouldn't have involved sleeping in same bed for seven nights running, and getting little more than the sort of kiss you'd give an auntie you didn't know very well who smelled of wee a bit. It was kind of funny, really, Syed had rejected him time and again, told him he didn't want him, that he'd never wanted him, that having sex with him was a mistake, one he would never repeat, but Christian had never seen him truly _nervous _about the actual sex part before. Sure, he was nervous as all hell out about the emotional impact, about what it meant, and what it made him, but the actual physical aspect of it never seemed to faze him in quite the same way. And yet here he was, one lame excuse away from _'honey, not tonight, I've got a headache'_. The last thing Christian wanted to do was push him into anything before he was ready for it, but he somehow suspected there were deeper issues lying in his apparent lack of desire.

But, as it stood, he was hardly going to force it. He'd had sex with Syed loads of times. It was only in the last few days that Syed had spent the whole night without sex being involved. Prior to this, Syed seemed to have relatively little problem with sex in and of itself. It was only once the sex became something other than sex, something more meaningful, that Syed struggled to cope with it. Most of the time, Syed wouldn't blink at coming around to have sex with him, but would point-blank refuse to spend the whole night and Christian knew this was only partially to do with the practical concerns about his family finding out. So, as Syed looked up at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes, small contented smile on his lips, somehow, he could manage to make himself okay with that.

In some ways, Christian was very understanding and had almost endless patience, particularly when it came to people he loved. Sleeping in bed next to the love of his life, finally being together 'properly' and getting as much action as a monk, however, was not one of those ways. He'd decided Syed had had enough time to at least talk about whatever it was that was bothering him, even though he probably hadn't. He wasn't sure what was more frustrating, the sexual part or the fact that Syed was _still _hiding things from him and refusing to face up to them.

He wasn't quite sure how to approach it. "Hey, Sy, why don't you want to fuck me?" didn't seem like the right approach. He decided the neutral approach was best. "Okay, Sy, what's up?"

"What?" Of course the neutral approach had its downfalls, like the person it was aimed at being able to play dumb, which Syed had always been particularly good at.

"Well, it's been nearly two weeks and we haven't..." he trailed off. Saying it aloud somehow made it sound stupid. Syed had abandoned his entire family for Christian, and an _entire fortnight later _they hadn't done it? It seemed so minor and even petty all of a sudden, he couldn't bring himself to complete the sentence, even if it _was _pretty weird by their standards. "You know what? Doesn't matter."

It seemed Syed genuinely didn't know what he was talking about, or he certainly wouldn't have encouraged this line of questioning. "Come on, Christian, what is it?"

"I just mean... we've been sharing a bed for a while now and we haven't actually... is there something wrong?"

Syed frowned, bemused, and looked faintly embarrassed. "You mean...down there?"

Being so deliberately dense _earned_ him this comment, "No, Sy, given what keeps poking me in the back on a morning, I guessed you're fully operational." Christian smiled at the blush that spread across Syed's cheeks. It was so adorable that after everything they'd done, a simple frank comment would set off Syed's embarrassment. "I meant, up here," he told him, tapping Syed's temple.

"It's not that I don't..." He paused, sighing. "Um. It's not that I don't _want_ to. It's just..."

"What, Sy? You know you can tell me anything. Do you not find me attractive anymore?"

It was so patently ridiculous that they both had to laugh. "Yeah, that's it, Christian. Root of the problem. I just mean... I'm scared."

Christian frowned. "What of? Me?"

"No. What it all means... I mean... there's an _us _now, you know? Like a proper... you and me, and that scares the hell out of me. And..."

"We have had sex before, you know."

"Really? That slipped my mind. Thanks for reminding me," he said, with an eye-roll hard enough to strain something. "I just mean... we've never really had... done it... as a..."

He had no intention of helping him out in the slightest. "You're having a lot of problems with your verbs and nouns there, Sy."

"It means something _more _now and I don't know... it's just _different_..."

"Syed, you know, with me, you've got nothing to be scared of. Us doing this today or tomorrow or _whenever_ you decide you're ready is not going to end the world. It's not going to change things with us."

"It will, though," he insisted quietly.

"For the _better_, maybe. I love you and I know you love me. You know, it's just _showing _it. And I know what a problem you have saying the words."

Hesitantly, Syed ran a hand over his cheek. Christian gasped and drew away automatically. "It's freezing, you freak of nature. It's, like, forty degrees in here and you're _cold_. Typical. You just have to be contrary."

"Bad circulation," he replied by way of explanation.

"Or you're just a _freak_. I think that's a more likely explanation." He took Syed's hands and rubbed them between his own, until his warmth was shared between them. Syed smiled down at their hands. "What?" Christian asked. "I just didn't want your hands dropping off from frostbite. In the world's most overheated hotel room. In _April_."

"It's just nice," he said, softly.

When they kissed, it was different from all the other times in the past week- Syed initiated it, for one thing, when he'd been shying away from all sexual contact since they'd come away from Walford. This was a rare enough event, anyway, even taken out of context. It was more of a peck than anything, but it was _something_. "Sy..." he said, looking at him questioningly

"It's okay," he answered.

"Are you sure?"

"No," he said, but given that he was mumbling the syllable into Christian's mouth, Christian was fairly sure he was about ninety-eight or ninety-nine percent certain.

***

Christian had apparently dozed off at some point afterwards, because he woke up with his chin jammed into Syed's shoulder awkwardly. He was surprised Syed hadn't shifted because it was definitely not a comfortable position, especially when he realised Syed was still awake. He moved to make it more comfortable for both of them. He'd missed this, but it wasn't like Syed had been much into enjoying the afterglow before, so it was almost new. Even on the odd occasion he'd lingered, Christian could practically hear the watches on the nightstand next to the bed ticking away each second until Syed would leave him again. Now, they had all the time in the world.

"Okay," Christian whispered by his ear, his breath stirring his hair. "Explain to me how that has damaged us the slightest."

Syed smiled as Christian placed lazy kisses in his hair, down his temple, along his jaw. "I think the hotel might have something to say about that. Seriously, you couldn't have saved the room damaging for a place that won't charge extra for it?"

"Right, because I did this single-handedly." Christian looked around, surveying the damage. "We'll... replace the lamp. And I'm sure the curtains will mend right back up." He stared, hard, at the torn curtains lying in a heap on the floor, brow furrowed. "How did that even happen?"

Syed shrugged. "No idea, but I blame you regardless," he replied, grinning. "You can sew, right?"

"I... can mend a hole in a shirt," he murmured into the curve of Syed's neck. "Just about."

"Good thing my mu..." He stopped dead, his expression blank.

Christian drew back, looking at him with concerned eyes. "Sy..."

He shook his head, as if he could clear his memory of his family _that _easily. "I'll _fix_ it," he said, with a weight that was inappropriate for simply the discussion of mending curtains.

Christian didn't say anything else, but just resettled himself and the arm that was already around Syed tightened. He placed a gentle kiss to Syed's shoulder.

_April 2011 _

Christian supposed it should have been a first anniversary or something, but Syed had clearly chosen to focus on the 'abandoning his family' element of that day. Which he knew was kind of fair enough, but still- h_e'd_ woken up happy. He wasn't quite able to get his head around the fact they'd been together a solid year without Syed deciding to go back to his family, or them having some epic blowout over something stupid. Given that he and Syed had once stopped speaking for nearly a week over an argument that had began with Syed having a go at him for leaving his shoes in the hall after he'd tripped over them, it was unsurprising that he was surprised they'd lasted the distance. While, in that sense, the practical sense, he was really surprised, but in another, more significant, less reasonable way, he wasn't. This time last year, he'd packed his bags and prepared to leave everything behind, because he'd decided he'd rather have nothing at all than have a few scraps and have everything he _really_ wanted just a finger's breadth out of reach. But even then, he'd never pictured not seeing Syed ever again. It didn't cross his mind, despondent as he'd been.

The way he saw it, their lives were so entangled with one another's, it would take more than a lifetime to unravel the knots that tied them inevitably together. There was a reason that, despite all the hurt and pain their relationship had caused them and others, they kept coming back. He hadn't thought they'd ever get back together, though- if they'd ever been 'together' in any sort of _real _sense in the first place- too much damage had been done, he'd thought, but he'd figured they'd find each other in some sense. As friends, even just acquaintances, as the time passed and the hurt began to fade. He'd never imagined he'd have stayed away from Walford forever, just until he could bear it again. Missing his family, missing Roxy, just missing the first place he'd ever felt home since he was seventeen, would have driven him back there, eventually. He never realised that happiness could more be a more far enticing than miser y to keep you from a place. There was a part of him, always, that knew they weren't home here or at least _he_ wasn't; Syed seemed perfectly content in that regard, which was fairly unnerving given his previous scorn of the potential of domesticity in their relationship. Every time Christian went to say 'home', the word closed off in his throat and he couldn't manage to force the word past his lips. But it didn't matter, because wherever Syed was, that was where he belonged, home or no home.

He'd been staring at Syed for two solid minutes in his reverie and hadn't realised, but Syed hadn't, either, so he didn't feel embarrassed. Despite seeing the misery etched into Syed's features, he still brightly greeted him as if he hadn't been staring at him like a demented stalker for ages. Syed turned to him and if Christian couldn't read his face in his sleep, he would have been convinced the bright smile was genuine. Syed's aptitude at pretending he was happy when he wasn't still amazed Christian after all this time. Decades of practice, he supposed, wasn't easy to shake off. But Christian didn't know why he bothered, it was a futile act. Christian didn't even bother with the pretence of pretending anymore, it was pointless. Even if he'd had any skill whatsoever as a liar, Syed could have seen through him. Being a terrible liar anyway just made it stupid.

Sometimes he pretended to believe Syed, because sometimes Syed needed to pretend. Most of the time, he called him on his bullshit, though. This was one of the other times. Christian knew Syed had left his family of his own free will, with no encouragement on his part, but he still felt guilty about the hurt Syed suffered as a result of what he saw as the abandonment of his family. Frankly, Christian thought he was better off out of it, but he'd never say it out loud, though he was sure Syed was aware where he stood on the matter. Syed's family was still Syed's family, and he'd still left them. Regardless of whether choosing to do so had made his life better or worse, it didn't change those hardcore facts. So, instead of upsetting Syed further by drawing out a conversation he clearly didn't want to have, he allowed him to pretend he was okay.

Christian did wonder how Syed expected him to completely ignore his bloodshot eyes which were puffed-up and circled red, but he'd manage. "What do you want to eat?"

"I'm not hungry," he replied absently.

Christian regarded his face carefully. "You sure?"

Syed smiled, but seeing the obvious upset beneath made Christian's heart hurt. "Yeah, stomach's a bit dodgy, anyway."

"No wonder you're a twig," he said over his shoulder as he absent-mindedly searched the cupboards. "I've seen supermodels that eat more than you."

"I've never had much of an appetite."

That was such a blatant lie that Christian wanted to laugh. His lack of appetite had only appeared circa 2010, and they both knew it. Christian just bit his tongue, almost literally, and allowed it to pass. "No wonder you're so good at the whole Ramadan thing, then. Doesn't make much difference to you, does it?"

Syed smiled, and it seemed a bit more genuine. "There's something I miss more than food during it."

His eyebrows lifted. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. The thirst, it kills me. Honestly, my tongue gets stuck to the roof of my mouth sometimes, it's awful."

Christian had to laugh. "I love you," he blurted. It had slipped out without him thinking about it. He thought it was a combination of the significance of the date with the verging-on-actual-smile expression on Syed's face. While he said it far more frequently than Syed, it was still hardly a regular occurrence, and while he wasn't looking directly at Syed when he said it and certainly hadn't said it with any particular weight or significance, from the way he felt Syed's body freeze, Christian wished he hadn't.

Syed's countenance turned serious, almost to the point of graveness, when he heard that. "I know," he replied. When Christian could bring himself to look him in the eyes, they're filled with tears. "It's the only..." he trailed off, his voice choked.

"Syed?" Christian asked, concerned. He wasn't going to push him into saying anything he didn't want to say, but he wasn't going to stop him from saying something that he clearly _did_ either.

He took a deep breath and took a sudden interest in watching his intertwined hands. "Sometimes, knowing that, it's the only thing that keeps me going," he replied, quietly, voice cracking.

Christian reached out and stroked his hair. "Well, then, you're going to have to keep going forever, aren't you?"

"Most people would have given up on me after a couple of months, you know."

He could just _hear _the 'and I didn't even deserve that' in Syed's tone. Instead of correcting him, because feeling like your family would reject you absolutely if they actually knew who you were tended to destroy self-esteem fairly irrevocably and since nothing Christian said could change how Syed felt, he did what he always did. He made a joke. "Mum always said I was far too stubborn for my own good. Saying I couldn't do something was a good way of ensuring I'd not only do it, I'd do it once and then again for good measure."

"Wanting someone because you can't have them gives you a mental age of about five, you do realise that," Syed said with exasperation in his voice, but his tone was lighter than it had been moments earlier.

"And then there's the whole part where I fell madly in love with you. But, yeah, mostly it was the whole forbidden fruit thing."

"Eve had nothing on you."

Christian grinned as if Syed had meant it as a compliment, and lifted his hands as if in false modesty. "Hey, the only mistake that girl ever made was getting tricked into it and not doing it off her own back."

Syed's eyes narrowed. "The whole of humanity was punished for that," he replied darkly.

He shrugged. "Yeah, well, life'd be pretty boring if it was all happy funtimes."

"I can take boring," Syed said quietly.

"Please, if we'd had nothing but contentment the past year, you'd have slit your wrists a month in."

"What are you saying? I need to be miserable to be happy?"

"No. Well, yes. But not you specifically. Everyone. You're human last time I checked. The definition of happiness- getting everything you ever wanted and nothing bad ever happens- is dull as a fart."

Syed tilted his head to the side. "Humans are pretty screwed-up," he replied, as if this was a huge dramatic revelation.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Syed looked at him, a sudden expression of such earnestness on his face that it made Christian's heart flutter in his chest. Or some other turn of phrase than made him sound less embarrassingly teenage-girl-with-her-first-crush. "I do, too, you know."

He did know. While Syed wasn't given to huge declarations of love, except occasionally in the middle of a street when it was the only thing that meant he didn't have to lose him potentially for good, people weren't in the habit of giving up their families for people they were merely a bit fond of. Christian could count on one hand the number of times Syed had said those three words in the past year. Hell, who was he kidding, he could count with three fingers and one of those times, he was fairly sure Syed had been unconscious. Syed pressed his forehead to his. For a moment, they just sat there, foreheads together, knees touching. Syed was so close that Christian could feel his facial movements as his mouth curved ever-so-slightly upwards. Then Syed was leaning forward and Christian knew they were both going to be extremely late to work. Syed might have had- many, many- issues with saying _I love you_, but he had no trouble with expressing it non-verbally.

Christian was attempting to watch Syed without Syed realising he was being watched. He looked at him from under half-mast eyes, and recognised Syed's face was hardly the picture of blissful contentment one would hope for. The sex itself had had an urgency and desperation about it that he'd like to put down to passion, but was aware it was far more likely to have come from the date on the calendar.

"You really miss them, don't you?"

"Who?" Syed asked, doing that incredibly annoying thing where he acted all false-casual when he knew exactly what he was talking about. It was one of the few things Syed did that could make Christian want to physically harm him.

"The cast of _Friends_. Who do you think?"

Syed looked at him for a moment before his gaze slid away. "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered.

"Yeah, well. Don't you think you should?" Great. His 'don't make Syed talk about something he didn't want to talk about' resolve had lasted all of half-an-hour. Syed just looked so _sad_, he had to do something to help that, and if that involved persuading him to talk against his will, so be it.

"What's the point? Yeah, I miss them," he said, and sank down onto the bed, as if he'd become boneless. "Wow, I feel better. It's like this huge weight has..."

Christian narrowed his eyes at him. "Has no-one ever told you sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?"

"No, I'm fairly sure that statement is the lowest form of wit," Syed returned.

"Sy, I just want to h..."

Syed saw his sympathetic expression and Christian could just see him misinterpreting it as _pity _as his eyes narrowed and he froze. "Don't, all right?" he snapped. "Just _leave _it."

"If you don't wanna talk about it, then don't," Christian replied with as much gentleness as he could muster. Which, frankly, wasn't a lot given it wasn't his natural disposition and Syed was being a bit of an arse. An understandable arse, but it still instinctively got Christian's back up.

"I know sharing is caring and all that, but I just don't see the good it'll do. Nothing's going to change."

"Maybe you should try."

Syed stared at him, brow furrowing. "Try?"

"Try to _change_ things," he clarified.

"How? I don't think cooking them a meal is going to suffice here, Christian."

"I'm not saying you run back home and expect them to welcome you with open arms. I just mean... baby steps."

"And what are baby steps? Short of _literal_ baby steps in the form of a grandchild courtesy of my _wife_, my mum's never going to forgive me."

"Hey," he replied, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "you're thinking too far ahead, okay? Don't think about forgiveness or any of that, just think about getting in touch, all right?"

He looked at him thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

"Of course it does." He leaned over the bed to the nightstand and grabbed Syed's phone and placed it in his hand. It just sat there, almost teetering off the edge of his palm. Christian sighed and closed his fingers around it. "Here."

He glanced down at the phone as if it contained the mysteries of the universe within. Which, to be fair, for Syed, it probably did. "I should put some clothes on. It feels wrong ringing my kid brother while I'm in bed with my... with you."

"You're ringing Tamwar?" Christian asked, surprised.

"Like you said, baby steps."

"You do realise he can't see you?" he asked, amused.

"Yeah, still, it's the principle of the thing," he replied, shrugging. "Plus, he always was a smart kid."

"Being able to solve differential equations gives you the ability to see through phones?"

"Wait. You know what differential equations are?"

"No. Sounds clever, though."

***

He glanced over at Christian nervously, who smiled encouragingly. "Hello? Tam? Tamwar?"

"Who's this?" he asked, though it was clear from his tone that he knew exactly who it was. If he recognised his voice after four years, a year was nothing.

"It's Syed," he replied, as if he hadn't picked up on the tone. "Look, Tambo..."

Tamwar scoffed. "Don't. Don't pretend like we're _mates _or anything. You gave up on that right when you abandoned our entire family."

Syed sat down on the edge of the bed. He could feel Christian's gaze on his back, but tried to ignore it. "I... just... how's Mum? And Dad?"

"It's so kind of you to think of them after a year of abandonment. Did you finally manage to remove your tongue from Christian's mouth long enough to conduct a conversation?"

Syed tried not to flinch at his words, even though, as Christian had pointed out, he couldn't see him. "I think about you every day. All of you."

"I'm sure you do," he retorted, making Syed fairly sure that this amount of sarcasm was going over some sort of generally accepted quota.

"Tamwar, you think I _wanted_ to leave? God knows, it was the _last _thing I wanted."

"I don't know what you were thinking. Because you didn't even have the grace to say goodbye."

He sounded more hurt than genuinely angry, and that was even worse. Anger could be responded with anger, hurt could only be responded to with guilt. In the hierarchy of how good emotions made you feel, anger would always win out over guilt.

"I didn't have time, I needed to..." he trailed off, his excuses sounding weak even to his ears. Remembering the urgency, everything else fading to nothing, wanting nothing but to get to Christian before it was too late, but it was difficult to explain. It was _impossible_ to explain without sounding entirely thoughtless and selfish. It'd be easier to explain if Tamwar had ever been in love.

"I get it, your boyfriend takes priority over the people who've looked after you for twenty-seven years."

"Twenty-two, actually," he snapped.

Tamwar snorted and Syed could just _hear _him shaking his head disbelievingly. "And whose fault is that? Playing the woe-is-me card isn't going to work on me. It's not like you didn't choose to walk away, or to steal that money."

"Please, Tamwar, just let me talk to Mum..." he said, practically begging and feeling little shame at it. He hadn't even intended to talk to his mum, at all but the opportunity was _there _and he'd missed her like mad.

"Syed," Tamwar replied, with a note of warning, but his tone was softer. "She can't even hear your _name _without tearing up a bit. And if she sees a family picture? She's a mess. I don't think she's ready to talk to you yet."

"Just... tell... just tell her I'm okay, all right?"

"Okay. I'll tell her you're alive," he replied, reluctantly. They were both silent for a moment, before Tamwar came back with, "What am I, anyway? Your weak link? Your go-to family member for gullibility?"

"Of course not, Tam, I... I just thought you'd be the most understanding. After it all happened, you were..."

He sighed, relenting a little. "You can't help being gay, can you?" He paused. "I get that, Syed. And I felt bad for you, I really did. _Feel _bad, still. It's not fair. But just running off, leaving the rest of us the pieces to pick up?"

"I had to... Tamwar. I _had to_. I couldn't let this... I couldn't let him go. And I knew Mum wouldn't be able to handle the shame. I thought I was sparing her... all of you..."

"Yeah, the shame, maybe," Tamwar acknowledged. "The hurt? Not so much. Look, I need to go, Mum's coming in."

"Tell her that I lo..."

"Yeah. Will do," Tamwar said quickly in a tone that made it evident he had no intention of doing any such thing. "Bye."

Syed put his head in his hands.

"That went well, I take it."

"Very, I feel so much better."

Christian wrapped his arms around his chest, his chin digging into Syed's shoulder. "At least you _tried_, Sy. Just keep at it, all right?"

Syed rolled his shoulders, shrugging him off, before standing up. "I need to go out for a bit."

Christian smiled without much feeling. "Yeah, okay."

***

Christian was fairly sure that most couples didn't spend their anniversaries with one party God-only-knew-where and the other one worrying about them. Well, at least not the _first _one, anyway. He certainly didn't know from _experience_- maybe they were all terrible and everything he'd heard about amazing trips to Paris were lies. He doubted it, though.

He returned from wherever he'd been closed-off and silent. From that, Christian gathered he'd been to mosque, because he always wore that expression after he'd been to mosque when he was upset about something. Christian _genuinely _had no idea why Syed went to mosque when he was upset about something relating to _them_, because it just seemed to make him feel even worse. But Christian had given up a long time ago trying to get his head around it, because it'd never make total sense to him. It wasn't like he could _ask _Syed when he was in this sort of mood, because Syed would just accuse him of mocking his faith or being deliberately pigheaded, when he just wanted to _understand _something that made no sense to him. He could ask him anything when he was in better moods, but he didn't like to bring this particular issue up, because he didn't want to remind Syed of his 'down' moods in case it reminded of him of _why _he'd been down. So it was something that would forever remain a mystery to him. He figured each time Syed would _hope _it would help, despite all the times it hadn't, because that was what faith was- believing in something despite having nothing to base that belief on. Christian admired him for that, in a way, but as someone who needed to see something to believe it, it was baffling to him.

But even without a particular trigger like talking to a member of his family for the first time in a year, Syed got like this sometimes- plaintive and preferring to be left well alone. Christian wouldn't lie and say that he liked it when Syed was like that, but he understood that trying to force Syed out of one of these funks was not only pointless, but had a habit of backfiring. Left to his own devices, Syed would eventually feel silly for self-pitying and would get over it. Discouraged by Christian, the contrary part of Syed would cling to Christian's attempts to drag him out of a funk as an insult to his character and an undermining of the sacrifices he'd made for him, and would use his annoyance to further fuel his depression. It went against his nature to just leave Syed alone in his moping, but it was the only thing he could do. Christian mostly did a lot of overtime to avoid him, because if he'd wanted to live with a moody, touchy teenager, he'd have moved in with the Beales permanently. Christian hated it when he was like this, if he was entirely honest. Because for all he was sleeping right next to him, he might as well have been three hundred miles away from him.

Normally, it lasted a few hours and it burned itself out. Three days later, though, Syed was still monosyllabic. He wondered if Syed was like this at work, or he saved his bad moods especially for him. Thinking about it, he couldn't imagine that he'd last long at work with this sort of 'bad attitude', so he must have reserved it for him. It'd make sense, he seemed even more grouchy after work than before. He felt so _special_.

This was another one of those things Christian had little patience for- _moping_. He'd done his fair share, admittedly, but he was prepared to be a total hypocrite and say he hated seeing it in other people. Mostly because he didn't know how to deal with it. With most people, calling them on their self-pitying was the way to go, but it wasn't like Syed didn't have valid reason to be brooding, and this meant that the 'Jesus, get over it' way a rather hard approach to take. He felt totally powerless in the face of this. He loved Syed to bits, he should just _know _how to make him feel better. But he didn't. He knew from experience leaving him to it worked, but it was a goddamn frustrating and slow process. For another thing, the leaving-him-alone thing, it didn't actually _fix _anything. It was like leaving a broken bone to heal. There was a chance it'd heal up fine all by itself, but there was an even bigger chance that it wouldn't heal properly and would cause more pain in the future. Maybe, Christian figured, it had lasted this long this time because Syed actually _wanted _to talk, but was, as usual, too stubborn to actually respond to Christian's concern and was far too proud, God forbid, to actually _ask _for help.

"Syed."

"What?" There was anger in his tone, but it was half-hearted. Syed simply wasn't made for holding onto anger.

"You know," he suggested, "maybe you should dye your hair black and get _MySpace _to _really _complete the look."

His expression changed from forced anger to total bewilderment. "What?"

"Or maybe a trenchcoat." He looked him up and down. "I think you could pull off a trenchcoat."

"What are you _on_ about?"

That was five whole words. He was on to something. "This. The moping. The whole 'everyone haaaates me' thing. And did I _genuinely _hear you playing Coldplay the other night?"

"It was... on... the radio," Syed replied, shamefaced.

"Four songs of Coldplay in a row? How coincidental.

"They had a marathon," Syed told him, continuing in his mission to win the prize for "World's Worst Liar".

"Right, then. Of course. And you couldn't have... I don't know...turned it off?"

"I couldn't be bothered," he replied weakly.

"You're so full of crap. I cannot believe you own a Coldplay album."

Syed's lips curved. It wasn't quite a smile but it was something. "You've seen my most-played playlist, Christian. You'd be more surprised if I _didn't_."

"True. Sy, seriously, are you okay?" He was apparently competing in "World's Worst Liar"'s parallel contest "World's Stupidest Question".

"No. No, I'm really not. I guess I forgot that I _wasn't_. I know it hasn't all been sweetness and light, you and me, but I've been so happy, mostly. But talking to Tamwar? It just reminded me how okay I'm not."

"And you couldn't just _tell _me this?" Christian asked. "You know I want to h.."

"Sometimes, I just need to be left alone to... _mope_ and listen to depressing music and..."

"Pray?" Christian filled in.

"Yeah."

"I haven't seen you... praying, I mean."

"I've been avoiding you," Syed told him.

Christian blinked. "...thanks. I hadn't noticed that."

"Especially when I've been praying, I mean. It's stupid, but... it's harder to..."

"What?"

"It's harder to ask for forgiveness for something I did wrong when the person I did it for is right in front of me reminding me why it _wasn't _wrong."

"Sy, I thought you were past this," Christian said gently.

"I am. I just mean... leaving my family like that, that was wrong. I can't escape from that. But... I don't see what else I could've done. Been miserable forever? I don't know what they were expecting of me, Christian, but whatever it was... I know I couldn't have done it. Married some other innocent girl and been miserable? Been celibate for the rest of my life? Or been with you in Walford, and brought huge shame onto my family? This is middle ground, right?

"You did what you thought was best. That's all anyone can ask of you."

"But I wasn't... I wasn't thinking about _any _of that that night. I just... wasn't thinking."

"Then how can you blame yourself? It was hardly a deliberate attempt to hurt your family," he said. "Wanting to be happy, wanting to be _free_, it's not a crime."

"You're supposed to put your family above everything else," Syed said.

Christian shook his head. "You can't live your life like that, Sy," he insisted. "You just can't."

"Live my life like what?"

"For other people! It's impossible. You'll end up disappointing the people you're trying to make happy, because you don't really _want _to do it, and you'll end up resenting them because you can't do what you want. It doesn't work on both sides. Can you seriously imagine six months, a year of what happened after you chose them? Can you imagine that _working_?" he asked. He placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. "Syed. You did the best thing you could. I'm not saying it was totally right, but it wasn't totally wrong, either. And it was more right than your other options."

"Basically, the lesser of two evils?" he said scornfully.

"In a way, I guess," he replied softly.

There was silence for a moment, before Syed said, "Thank you."

Christian frowned, both confused by what exactly Syed was thanking him for, and why he was saying it with so much earnestness. "What for?"

"Putting up with me."

"In dickness and in health, isn't that how it goes?"

Syed snorted. "Something like that."

"Come on, Sy, I said before. If I was expecting an easy ride, I'd have to have been pretty stupid. I knew what being with you entailed and if I wasn't willing to deal with you when you were being less than charming, what sort of relationship would that be on my half, eh?"

"Still. There are probably hundreds of thousands of blokes out there who'd give their right arm to be with you, and would give you a lot less grief."

"When are you going to get it into your head? I love you more than _anything_. I don't care if you're moody sometimes, or you get angry over nothing, or you listen to Coldplay or when you laugh at your own jokes when they couldn't be less fun..."

Syed lifted a hand to stop him. "Okay, enough of extolling my virtues."

"What I mean to say is, the perfect bloke could be out there, and could cause me no grief, and be permanently happy and calm and endlessly patient, but if there is, I don't want to find him. 'Cos he's not you," he said, then added as an afterthought, "Also, he'd be as annoying as fuck."

"But don't you think..."

"Syed, seriously, shut up," Christian said lightly. "I mean, I'm sure I've got _some _flaws, and you put up with me. I mean, I can't _think _of any, but I'm sure there's _something_..."

"I've got a list if you..." Syed started to offer.

Christian shook his head. "No, no. I understand what a difficult task it would be to compose a list. You needn't go through such trouble to prove my point."

Syed ignored him. "You're the vainest person I've ever met and I was engaged to _Amira_, you spend about two hours in the bathroom every morning..."

"I fail to see how those are flaws," Christian replied, flatly.

"You snore like a pig. You've never heard of this thing called _tact_. You'd flirt with a postbox if it was sentient..."

"Again, 'flaws' is so subjective..."

"I'd love to see how you rationalise snoring as an asset..."

He paused for a long moment. "Well, you'll know if I ever die in my sleep."

Syed rolled his eyes. "Speaking of being full of crap..."

Christian smiled.

"You never snored that much before. I mean, it's only been recently it started being a major thing."

"I guess it means I'm... _content_," he said, his aversion to the word showing clearly.

"Is this another one of those 'it's not a flaw' things?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah. But it's true, as well."

"I miss my family so much, Christian," he told him. "But you know why I feel so guilty?"

There was a long enough silence that Christian wondered if it wasn't as rhetorical a question as it sounded."You... want me to guess?"

"No. I just... I've never been this happy before. I've turned my back on my family, and I've _never been happier_. I mean, what sort of crappy son does that make me?"

"It doesn't make you anything. Twenty-six years of pretending to be something you weren't, and finally being able to be yourself all the time? How could you _not _be happier? The relief alone..."

"Can you feel guilty about not feeling guilty enough?"

"I'm sure _you _can, as a connoisseur of guilt, shame and all affiliated emotions. Come on, Sy, there's got to be a point where you realise you've done what you've done, you can't change it, and sitting around angsting about it is just... a waste of time and energy," he said. "I know that won't stop you, but just throwing it out there."

"It's not like guilt has a trip-switch," he reminded him.

"I know. But it's been a year. I mean, I'm not saying 'get over it' or 'move on', because I know you can't, but you've got to stop beating yourself up about it. It doesn't do any good for anyone."

Syed stared at him a long, hard moment and Christian thought for a moment he looked angry, and he wondered if he'd gone too far. Then the expression changed into something he'd only ever seen on a morning, in rare moments where Syed had been watching him sleep and hadn't realised he'd woken up- complete and total open adoration. His mouth opened and closed several times, and Christian really thought he was going to fail to say it again. It wasn't like he _minded_, because when someone was looking at you like that? It was kind of hard to require any sort of vocal confirmation. "I love you, Christian."

It was only the second- or third, depending on how conscious he'd been that other time- time he'd said it and it was full of hesitation and to untrained ears, it sounded almost insincere. But, with Syed, it wasn't how he said it, but the fact that he said it at all that meant the world. While he hadn't needed to hear it, he couldn't help but smile broadly at him. "I know," he replied.

Things were different after that. Christian actually started to reverse his long-held policy on the whole 'happiness is dull' thing. Arguing was pretty much restrained to minor things, and the occasional big ones were made up hours, if not minutes, later. The only times Syed was particularly touchy and withdrawn were during Ramadan, and the occasional day which was probably a special occasion of some description. Christian had figured 24th November was Zainab's birthday, given the way he was having staring contests with his phone all day and Christian had seen _Mum _highlighted on his contact list more than once. It was hardly perfect, but it was _better_. So much better, in fact, that he was rather confident that his younger self would have been horrified at how _domesticated _he was going to become.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N__: Been desperately trying to get this finished before midnight today. I'm so lame. Anyway, an hour and fifteen minutes to spare, I'm too good. I'm impressed with myself that I managed to finish this despite the world's best spoiler. Happy birthday to the WFCTGIO thread! Hopefully the first of many. I can't make clever poems like vf, so you're stuck with this. 10,000 words, though, that should do. I hope, anyway._

_I'm hoping that updates will become more regular from here on in. I've got nothing better to do, so I've got no excuses!_

_March 2012 _

Christian had to forfeit the point- he did miss Syed a bit. If one's definition of 'a bit' was 'like you would miss a leg after losing it, except maybe even worse'. If a person spent practically every waking, non-working moment with someone, they kind of got used to their presence. So turning to mock someone on the telly when there was no-one sitting next to you was totally normal. It was not a sign of total and complete co-dependency. It was just a force of habit, more than anything. Admittedly, the whole spending-every-breathing-hour together thing was a bit of a hint of co- dependence in itself, but it wasn't like it was vastly different to most relationships. Okay, so he hadn't made a lot of friends in any of the places they'd stayed, but it was only really the most recent residence that he'd even spent enough time in to qualify as somewhere where friends ought to be made. And it wasn't like he didn't occasionally meet up with his mates- but most of them were in the same domesticity boat, and it was hardly his fault the meetings were infrequent. The fact that at some point while he was having this train of thought, he somehow found himself gripping his phone tight enough to hurt kind of cancelled all of it out, though.

"I've gone ten days without sex," he said, by way of a greeting, in a totally manly, not-at-all –whiny way. "I'm in physical pain. I think I'm dying. I'm not used to this."

"Whose fault is that? And, anyway, that's what your right hand is there for," Syed replied, and he could practically hear his patronising smirk through the phone. Bastard. He had a lot more experience with celibacy than Christian had ever had. This was probably a cakewalk for him.

"My right hand is no fun," he said, and he was definitely still not whining. Or pouting, even a little.

"Use your left then." And, okay, he'd walked right into that one.

"Shut up. So are you coming up for a visit anytime soon?" he asked.

"Awww, you're so sweet," Syed said, voice sharp with sarcasm. "I'm glad you've clearly missed my wonderful personality and winning smile."

"Yeah, that too," he said dismissively.

Syed sighed. "No, since I took an entire year's holidays without any notice whatsoever, basically, they're overloading me with work. Fourteen hour days are _fun_. Plus, I think I need to wait a bit for more family visits."

"You haven't had a single day off in a year and a half. You think that'd grant you a bit of leeway."

"I don't mind, though," Syed said in a tone that Christian took to mean he'd volunteered for all the extra hours, but wouldn't admit that it was to occupy him in Christian's absence. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. "I _like_ work. And it keeps me occupied."

"Instead of sitting at home wishing I was there?" he suggested.

"Nah, there's just nothing on telly during the day. I had my fill of _Jeremy Kyle _in our hotel days. I still haven't recovered those particular brain cells."

"Oh, _please_. You have clearly not discovered the joys of _Homes Under the Hammer_."

"I must've missed that one," he replied through a yawn.

"My apologies, am I boring you?"

"Fourteen hour days," he reminded him. "Did you miss that?"

"Right."

"I need to go," he said, still yawning. "And... do human things like eat and bathe and sleep before I become an automaton again tomorrow."

"Okay."

"You could come up _here_, for a bit," he proposed. "A couple of days, maybe. It couldn't hurt."

Christian rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sy, you know if I do that I'd never come back." It occurred to him that that was probably why Syed had suggested it.

"Yeah, darn that whole co-dependence thing."

Christian's brow creased. "You really don't mind that, huh?"

He couldn't see the shrug, but he could hear it in his tone, "Not so much. After several years of lie-living, I've become rather fond of the truth. Why does it bother you?"

He chose not to answer that question directly. "It's not like we can't exist without each other."

"Which is why I said co-_dependence_," he retorted, "not co-existence."

"Are you okay? I mean, on your own?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Four years on my own, Christian. Ten days is hardly debilitating," he replied, sounding a bit insulted by the implication.

"You don't prefer it though?" he asked, and he was not worrying that a week and a half apart would give Syed a bit of perspective and make him realise that, actually, he was with a middle-aged bloke whose best years were behind him. Never mind that this particular middle-aged bloke was gorgeous, people didn't stick around with a lifetime just because people were attractive. Or they might, actually. It would explain a lot about some partnerships.

"Prefer it to the contortionist acts required to get us into a bed designed for children? Never!" Syed being deliberately thick-headed had to be one of his more annoying traits.

"That's not what I mean."

"If you're asking if I miss you, then you need your head examining," Syed said sharply.

He sensed a change of tack was required, because the track it was heading towards did not involve anything comfortable. "I'll be back soon, anyway. Jane seems better."

"When do you think you'll be home?" Syed asked, trying to sound casual but clearly a little desperate to know. It was encouraging. Most of the time, Syed was as transparent as glass.

"I don't know. A couple more weeks, maybe." Or, you know, tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good.

There was a bit of a pause. "A couple more weeks, okay. I can live with that. Fourteen times fourteen day's wages..." He wolf-whistled. "More than a pretty penny."

"I wish I could see you," he blurted out. He was officially the master of playing it cool, as he always had been.

"It's your fault for not being able to work video-calling."

He was grateful his embarrassment about his slushiness was replaced by being insulted, despite the fact he wasn't even sure if his phone _had _video-calling. "I _can_, I just... don't want to."

"Never mind," he said. "And about your other little problem? Just imagine doing the horizontal- or possibly vertical- tango with Ian Beale. That ought to kill your sex drive for at least the next six months."

He grimaced. "Thanks for that, Sy."

"It's what I'm here for," he replied brightly.

"Killing my sex drive? Yeah, no, that's not what I signed up for."

"It's a talent," he said with bravado.

"A useful one, I'm guessing. Love you."

"Me too. Night, Christian."

"Night."

xxx

Jane had popped out for some milk, but Christian reckoned she was just sick of him crowding her. Things had been awkward between them since the outburst at the hospital, but she'd apologised and he was trying to pretend it hadn't gotten under his skin as much as it had. Jane had far, far more important things to worry about than hurting his sensitive feelings regarding Syed. She'd been gone fifteen minutes, and, short of milking the cows herself, he doubted that was the length of time it took to go to the Minute Mart and back. She was probably sick of the sight of him. Hopefully she took it for concern- which it partially was, to be fair- rather than what it actually was: filling in the time. His phone kept doing this phantom-vibrate like. He would swear on his life that he had a text, or someone was ringing him, but it was actually nothing. The longer Jane was gone, the more and more tempting ringing Syed up like a pathetic, lovesick sap got. His phone was like a heroin addict carrying a needle around in his pocket. It was _calling _out it to him, he swore to God. He put it on the table and physically pushed it away from himself. The papers with the Masala Queen header on became suddenly fascinating after that. He read over them in great detail. He didn't understand a lot of the legalese, but he understood very clearly, as if it was scrawled across the page, that the business was in code-blue deep shit. He was amazed, frankly, that they hadn't declared themselves bankrupt. Of course not, though, Zainab was far too stubborn for practicalities such as that. She'd run herself into the ground first. And apparently, she was damn close to that. He wondered if Masood knew the extent of it. Hedging his bets, he assumed not.

"Christian?" Jane called. "Sorry, got talking to Tanya. Love her to bits, but she can't half talk your ear off about nothing sometimes..."

He dropped the papers he was examining like a naughty schoolchild caught with his hands in the biscuit tin before teatime. "Hi."

She regarded the room a moment, and clearly noticed the disorder of the papers. "Have you been nosying into private documents?"

"No," he replied, innocent as could be.

"A massive wind must've blown and messed the papers up then."

"Yeah, drafts. That's why you shouldn't leave windows open."

"Christian!" she admonished.

"Fine, okay, I was _bored_."

"You know, when most people are bored, they put the telly on? They don't go rifling through people's personal papers."

"I've always had a concept of privacy, me."

"Yeah, I remember you reading excerpts of my diary at my twelfth birthday, thank you."

"I said I was sorry."

"Through laughter after Mum grounded you for a fortnight doesn't count," she replied.

He smiled, but his expression turned serious as he saw the papers out of the corner of his eye. "Jane, I didn't realise things were like this."

"Of course not. Zainab's hardly going to admit that she needs you, is she? And I didn't want to worry you, what with everything else going on."

"Don't be silly. You can tell me anything." He gestured to the papers. "How did things get this bad?"

"Well, you and Syed left, and Zainab and Masood had the baby, as well as all the Syed stuff. You know, it doesn't scream for being a successful business. Of course, all the screaming at each other about you and Syed we did at first was hardly conductive to making a business work. Zainab would disagree with me and Ian just for the sake of it, and instead of making a decision in two minutes, it would take _hours_. Then all the temps were useless... And by 'useless', I mean 'not up to Zainab's impossibly high standards', and they couldn't take it, so they lasted a week, maximum. Not that she'd admit it in a million years, but they always fell short of you and Syed."

"I didn't even think..." he said, apologetically.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "It was hardly a priority for you."

He looked up at her. "Yeah, I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean it in a bad way. I just mean, well, you did have more important things to worry about."

"Why didn't you ring me? Or something?" he asked.

"I told you, I didn't want you worrying. Plus, what exactly could you do? Unless you've got some secret offshore account somewhere..."

"I wish. I'm sorry, babe, me and Sy aren't exactly awash with cash at the moment. I can ask him..."

"I was joking, Christian," she replied with a sigh. "Forget about it."

"I'd help if I could, you know that."

"Of course I do."

"I feel awful."

"Don't. If we'd all handled it like mature adults, it wouldn't be so bad. It's not your fault. If a business can't recover from two of its workers leaving, then it doesn't deserve to recover. There were loads of other elements, too," she said.

"Yeah, but still. Syed and I were the catalysts for it all."

Jane deigned to reply, instead she replied, "Plus, even if the business does go under, we'll be okay. We've got the caf, and, as Ian often brags, he has his finger in many pies. In fact, we'd probably be better off without this financial deadweight."

He looked up at her. "And the Masoods?"

She sighed. "I don't know. But I can't see how they'd... manage, but if anyone can cope, it's Zainab."

"Couldn't you just... sell it?" he suggested, sighing. "I don't know."

"For one thing, it's practically worthless in its current state. And even if it wasn't, it's Zainab's pride and joy. She'd never give it up voluntarily. Not in a million years."

"That's true."

"Look, say what you want about her, Zainab's got a good business head on her shoulders. Something will come to her."

"Yeah, something will."

xxx

He came out of Jane's a couple of hours later. Even though they hadn't talked about the business much, it'd never been far from his mind. On a personal level, he wasn't really bothered- _his _family would cope just fine, and the other members of the business hated him, and the feeling was more than mutual, but he knew Syed would be deeply worried about his family. He briefly considered not telling him- he'd be no better for knowing, but if he got a phone call a few months down the line about his family living in a gutter? He might be a bit peeved that Christian had withheld this information from him.

"I've rang you about sixteen times," he said, trying not to sound frustrated.

Syed sighed, sounding a bit annoyed. "I know, I saw that, thanks. You know I can't answer my phone at work. What do you want?"

"How do we stand, financially?" he asked, because he couldn't think of a more roundabout way of phrasing it.

The silence on the other end was disbelieving. "...you rang me, at work, in the middle of the day to ask me _that_?"

"Why are you so pissy?" he asked.

"Because you rang me at work in the middle of the day to ask me _that_!"

It was on the tip of his tongue to just say the whole truth, but Syed sounded so _harried_, and there was nothing he could do about it this very second, so he just said, "Look, it's _important_."

"Why? Did you go on eBay again? I told you if you don't..."

"No! No. Look, I just want to know, generally. You don't need to get the bank statements out and quote figures at me."

Syed hesitated for a while before answering. "We're... okay, I guess. We can pay the bills, and sparing any major disasters, we'll be fine."

"And... how do we stand on disposable income?"

Another hesitation. Christian put it down to confusion over why the hell he suddenly wanted to know, when he'd shown very little interest in the past. "Again, fine. Not a holiday in Florida fine, just... Lake District fine, I guess."

He tried to hide his disappointment. "Oh." He failed.

"Why? What is it?" he asked, with a hint of alarm in his voice.

"It's nothing," he replied, with such false bravado that he knew even hundreds of miles away, Syed could see the lie a mile off. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

"Are you in some sort of financial trouble all of a sudden? And of course I'm going to worry about it if you don't tell me what's going..."

"Bye, Sy. I'll ring you later."

"You're obviously not telling me everything. Christi..."

He hung up the phone. No doubt he'd have about a million missed calls by the end of day, and Syed was going to go mental. It occurred to him then he should have just told him. Or waited to tell him anything at all. Ignorance is bliss, but half-ignorance is torture. He walked along the Square, heading towards home, when he saw Zainab walking along the street. He was tempted to avoid her, but he had no desire for her to believe he was afraid of her, rather than what it actually was: a deep aversion. She clearly felt much the same way; she was headed straight for him.

"Oh. It's you," Zainab said, with her usual level of contempt for him. Without Syed around, she saw no reason to disguise her disgust with his presence or existence.

"Wow, is that all you've got this afternoon?" he asked brightly. "You must be warming to me after all. I'm touched."

She scoffed. "Hardly. What are you still doing here, anyway? Has Syed tired of you?"

"Nah, I just thought you'd enjoy the pleasure of my company more than Syed's," he said, and as she struggled over which of the infinite number of retorts that came to her was the most biting, he decided to just bite the bullet and say something. It wasn't like he was concerned about damaging their precious relationship. "Zainab? Really, need to ask you about the business..."

"What about it?" she asked defensively. "You're not going to have the cheek to ask for your share of the earnings as a partner, are you?"

"No. I didn't even realise I _was _still a partner. I thought I'd abdicated that when I went AWOL for two years..."

"Well, good. What is it, then? I've got more pleasant things to do than speaking to you, such as changing my baby's nappies. And possibly rubbing the contents on my face."

"Right, Jane told me about the state of the business..." Which, okay, wasn't exactly true, but it stood him on better ground than 'I went rifling through private papers'.

"Oh, she did, did she?" Zainab asked, and Christian briefly considered whether she'd give a sick woman a verbal bashing. Then he realised he was kidding no-one- Zainab would bend the ear of someone on their deathbed.

"Yeah, look, she wasn't trying to land you in it or anything, I was just wondering if it was really as bad as she was letting on is all..."

"Well, since you went off and took a third of the labour force with you, what exactly were you expecting? Us to _flourish_ in your absence?"

"I didn't even really think..." he started to admit.

"Of course you didn't. You're not entirely to blame..."

"I'm not?" he asked, with wide-eyed surprise. "Now there's a change."

"No, Syed's the same. Always has been. Gets his head focused on a task, and, to be sure, he'll remember the big things, like his family, but the real, ins and outs of daily life without him? I bet he didn't even consider that. So I doubt the business floundering with him much crossed his mind. Or yours, which you've admitted. When you run off, you leave someone else to pick up your mess. Always. The business is just a reflection of that. So, to answer your question, yes. Things are that bad. We are hanging on by a thread right now, and Syed leaving again has just worsened that situation. But don't you worry about it, you just go back to wherever you're going, and don't concern yourselves with it. You're good at that, the pair of you."

"Zainab..." he started, his voice soft after the unexpectedly emotional outburst. He was used to anger from her being levelled at his heart, but the hurt and disappointment he heard was... surprising. In his mind, he'd elevated Zainab to this Demon Bitch from Hell, and he'd managed to forget along the way that she was still human. It wasn't his fault she decided to show her human side to him so infrequently.

"Don't you dare apologise to me," she said contemptuously.

Leave it to Zainab to kill any compassion he'd had for her dead. "As if. Look, I'm going to ring Syed and..."

"What? He'll come gallantly in to save the day on his white horse?"

"He'd do anything for you."

She laughed mockingly. "He would have once. And then _you _came along."

"Right, this is my entire fault. I _turned _Syed gay with my magic gay-rays."

"Don't you patronise me. Syed was a good son. A good Muslim. A good _man_. Until you got your hands on him."

"...who stole from his family, so desperate was he to make them proud. Sounds perfect."

"He made _mistakes_. But that... even that... was in order to, as you say, make us proud. He never loved anything more than his family, more than his faith..."

"He still _doesn't_," he said. He remembered the moments where he couldn't go near Syed, when he was staunchly silent or, worst, just sad. The moments were few and far between, but Christian was under no delusions that Syed missed his family constantly. Some days it was just the pain was more sharp than others.

"Well, it appears that way. Him _doing anything for us_, that's why he ran off with you, is it?"

"It wasn't about who he loved more, Zainab. It was about the truth. About _happiness_," he said. "He adores you. He would give anything, absolutely anything, to have you accept us. Accept him."

"I... have done as much compromising as I am willing to do." It was clear that by not rejecting Syed outright and being civil Zainab thought herself to have made a huge effort. And Christian didn't understand. The way Syed talked, by their culture's standards, she had.

"You know how grateful Syed is for that. You and Masood_. I_ don't see why, but he seems over the moon with it."

"We have gone above and beyond for him," she said. "Risked everything. If anyone were to find out... and we were found to have done anything but utterly condemn him?"

Christian took a deep breath before he spoke, "Then it's good he's gone, right?"

"Technically speaking, yes," she said.

"But you still miss him like mad."

She looked at him a moment, and, again, he could see the woman she could have been, if things had been different, and then as quick as a flash, it was gone. "He's my son," she said, before stalking off with the pushchair. Christian figured this was the closest they were ever going to get to a touching moment.

xxx

"Fifteen days," Christian said brightly.

"Is this our 'hello' now?" he asked gruffly.

"Were you asleep?"

"A little bit, yeah," he replied a bit tetchily.

He glanced at his watch. "It's eight thirty, Sy. Did you turn into an old lady while I was away? If so, I might just stay here forever.

"No. I've just gotten in from work, I'm knackered."

"Oh, _work_," he said, feigning ignorance. "Yeah. That thing."

"How're you paying your rent?" Syed asked.

"Ian's letting me stay here for free."

Syed snorted. "No, really."

"Fine, _Jane_'s letting me stay here for free. And I'm doing the odd shift in the caf and general helping-out stuff, you know."

"So, what was that about earlier?"

"Oh, right. Sy, you sound tired. It can wait."

"Are you sure? You sounded so worried before," Syed asked, and the tiredness evident in his voice just strengthened Christian's resolve further.

"Yeah."

"Okay. I'll ring you in the morning."

"You mean at 5AM? When you get up to feed your cats and take your dementia pills?"

"Shut up," he replied, good-naturedly.

"Have a good night's sleep, okay?"

"Not the same without you," he said. He was definitely on the verge of passing out, to say something like that. It was definitely best saved it til morning.

"Yeah, me either. And I'm not just saying that 'cos I'm either half-hanging off the bed or sleeping on the couch which, by the way, has somehow gotten lumpier over the years."

"I'm touched, once again, that you've missed me so much. Right, seriously, dying here. Speak to you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Night."

xxx

Syed had always appreciated time alone when he was younger, growing up as he had in cramped housing with a complete lack of privacy on his mother's part. But between being estranged from his family for years, and being with Christian every day for the better part of two years, loneliness didn't seem so inviting anymore. It wasn't that he couldn't use the time alone, sometimes. In fact, there were days where there was nothing he wanted less than to interact with other people, even Christian. He just wanted to sit with himself, and the silence. It didn't happen very often, though. Christian had learned how to anticipate these moods, and left him well alone, but he was still _noisy_. The TV on full blast like he was partially deaf, rifling through cupboards with an excessive level of noise, clattering around in the bathroom when he was showering- he always made his presence known. Syed had commented more than once that the one 'quiet' wasn't even in Christian's vocabulary. Even when this desire to be alone had all but abated in the last year, he still had a wish for 'quiet time', which Christian found painfully dull and always ended up moaning about and Syed was always the one who gave in, because there was nothing worse than a bored, petulant Christian moaning on. Coming home late in the evenings, the level of silence was unnerving. He hadn't realised how much noise Christian had made before it wasn't there anymore. It was like most things, he supposed.

Most nights, he was just exhausted and fell asleep almost instantly in front of the television, or on the bed, or that one time, with utmost dignity, on the toilet. But it was still strange waking up alone. He also kept waking up in the middle of the night, despite his exhaustion, apparently because of being unaccustomed to sleeping alone. Every sound seemed amplified without Christian's snoring piercing the air. He couldn't believe his sleeping pattern was being interrupted by the _absence_ of Christian's snoring. He couldn't win. All of it, it just made him so grateful this arrangement was only temporary, and he could pick up the phone at any moment- literally any moment, he knew, though he hadn't tested this theory by calling Christian at 3AM for no apparent reason, he couldn't imagine he'd meet a great deal of hostility despite Christian's normal reaction to his sleep being interrupted- and hear his chipper voice. It wasn't the same, but it was okay, that way. He missed Christian, but not like he'd missed his family all this time. He knew Christian was coming home.

The thought of him being away being a permanent thing was almost unbearable, but it made the fact that it _wasn't _all the better. Not knowing when it was coming to an end was irritating and every time Christian gave him a vague answer of 'soon' or 'a couple weeks... ish', Syed wished he had the ability to strangle someone through a phone. He tried not to get irritated, because his sister was _ill_ and he just wanted to be with her, and it was totally justifiable and he needed to make the time up at work, anyway, and he could do that far more easily without Christian's presence- but it was difficult. He felt lonely, and he wasn't used to it anymore. He'd spent his whole life feeling that way, even when surrounded by friends and family, because they liked and loved a construct. The fact that he knew that most of them required the construct to even associate with him just made him feel lonelier than when he was actually by himself. When he was alone and there was that rare silence, he could feel God's presence more keenly. God, who knew him, and was judging him, but still loved him regardless of his weakness. It was like that with Christian. Not that he was comparing Christian to God- he'd never hear the end of it- but it gave him that same sense of comfort, of having someone or something there who loved him no matter what. It was just _Christian's_ physical presence made all that a hell of a lot easier. God was omniscient, while Christian had a habit of leaving his phone behind and not realising until Syed was halfway through a meeting and deciding to ring his phone which Syed had forgotten to put on vibrate. Or forgetting to charge it so it went off halfway through a call. He shouldn't complain- he wasn't exactly accessible 24/7, and only had small windows of time he wasn't working or sleeping, but he still felt frustrated when he couldn't get through to Christian, because he often felt like he needed to. Ten minutes a day of phone conversation was nothing in comparison to several hours of actual contact, but it was better than nothing.

It was only the thought of turning into one of those creepy insecure boyfriends that stopped him ringing ten times whenever he could. It was just the principle of the thing. Even though Syed wasn't the one who felt he had something to prove, he still didn't want to show to Christian how much of an effect his absence was having on him. He didn't want to admit it to himself, really, never mind anyone else. He told himself he was fine, he was just unaccustomed to being alone at this point, and had taken Christian's presence for granted, but he wasn't exactly very convincing. It was ridiculous, anyway. But he felt the absence of any genuine friends badly in the rare times he was unoccupied. He had his co-workers and casual acquaintances in the neighbours, but nobody he felt comfortable enough to actually spend any time with. When Christian was there, he hadn't felt any need. He'd never been a particularly sociable person, really. He'd known all the right things to say to make people superficially like him, all the right stories to tell, sure, but that was a science and it was an entirely different thing to forming genuine connections with people based on mutual affection. The last real friends he'd had had been at school, and even then, he'd felt like they hadn't really known him and would've abandoned him if they had. He'd never missed it, really. He'd always been intensely family-orientated and ambitious, and friends never really came into it. Even now, when he was thinking about it with a tinge of regret, it was only because he wished he had someone to pass the time with to distract him. Back then, he'd had his family, and he'd been happy. Now, he had Christian and he was happy. Maybe it wasn't _healthy _to put all your eggs in one basket like he had, and, okay, it hadn't exactly paid off last time, but he was okay with it. At least, as the past couple of weeks had proven, having Christian alone was better than not having him at all.

_April 2010 _

It took Syed a ridiculously long time to figure out where Christian was so determinedly heading towards, considering he'd known exactly two things: Christian was leaving, and his train was due in fifteen minutes. In fairness to him, he'd just left his family and was about to leave everything he knew behind, his brain was not functioning on the higher level.

They were sitting on the floor in the tube station, and Syed regarded Christian's profile curiously. "So what do we do now? I presume you had some sort of plan. Unless that plan involved wandering aimlessly around the countryside hoping your looks would earn you enough admiration for people to give you food."

Christian turned to him "Not so much a plan as a plan to plan later."

Syed blinked at him. "This language you speak. It _resembles_ English..."

"I _mean_, I was going to stay with a mate until I got myself sorted," he clarified.

Syed nodded until something struck him as 'off' about that sentence. "Was?"

"Well, I don't think he'll much appreciate me turning up with you."

"An ex, then. Look, if he's just your mate now, I'm not so insecure that I can't..."

"Yeah. It's James."

Syed stared at him for a long moment. "Well, you know, there's always hotels."

Christian laughed without much humour. "Have you got any money?" he asked.

"Not much. Or... any at all, really. I think I have a couple of hundred stored somewhere. Maybe."

"Same here." He lifted his eyes heavenward. "We've thought this through, clearly."

"Thinking's not really our forte."

"True enough."

"Haven't you got any other mates?" Syed asked.

"That I haven't slept with?" Christian pulled a face. "Not really. Have you?"

"Got mates that I haven't slept with? Plenty. Mates I could call up for a favour and turn up with _you_? Not so much."

"We _could_ stay in a hotel for a few nights. I've definitely got enough money for that. But beyond that..."

"Let's not think about it, okay? I'm sick and tired of thinking about the future."

"That'll be difficult," he drawled. "I'm not one of those live-in-the-moment people at all."

"Yeah," Syed replied vaguely.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice as gentle as Syed had ever heard it.

"What do you mean?"

Christian stared at him for a bit before replying. "Well, you just left your family. I assumed you'd have thoughts and feelings about that."

Syed thought about giving it an actual reply, before the rush of feelings- guilt, doubt, fear came flooding back to the surface, and if he allowed them to build much further, he wasn't sure if he could do this. "I... don't want to talk about it. I just want to get away from here first."

Christian looked as if he was about to comment on the unhealthiness of keeping these things bottled up, before he realised who he was talking to, and decided it was pointless. "Understandable. Where do you want to go?" he asked. "I figure you want to be further away than London, which is where my train ticket's for."

Syed threw up his hands as he shrugged. "I don't care."

"I wish I'd brought a map and a dart now. That'd make it a lot easier. And cooler."

"Anywhere but here."

"I tell you what. Next train that comes along, we get on it. Okay? Be all daring."

"What if it goes to Newcastle?" He shuddered with mock-horror.

"Then we'll get a translator."

Christian took his hand and Syed squeezed it back to the point of pain. Christian didn't say anything, but Syed saw the briefest grimace as the strength of his grip reached its peak. He was regarding him intently. "Sy, we don't have to go. We could go back. I know how you feel about your family..."

"Yeah, we do. People are going to..." he trailed off. "People are going to _talk_, and I'm guessing most of Walford will be able to add up cancelled wedding and disappearing at the same time as gay ex-co-worker. But that doesn't mean it'll get back to the people who 'matter', you know. It's not like Bushra's ever going to be associating with, like, Janine Butcher or someone."

"Can you imagine?" Christian asked, amused.

"Janine would eat her alive."

"When you put it like that, maybe they _should_ associate with each other."

"There'll be rumours, probably. The whole cancelled wedding thing has done the family no favours, and some stuff just gets around, you know. But... not being there together, in Walford, with my family... it makes it less likely it'll get found out. Plus, even if it somehow does, it'll look like they've disowned me. I mean, 'gay son' isn't exactly going to win them many favours, but... 'disowned gay son' is a major step up."

Christian looked faintly ill.

"That's just how it is," he said, matter-of-factly.

"You know, I wish there was someone I could punch the injustice out of."

"I'd like to see you get into a fight," Syed replied, with a lightness he hoped indicated to Christian he didn't want to talk about their previous topic anymore. "You got floored by my _dad_."

"I... wasn't expecting it, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. My five-foot-eight, pot-bellied, almost-fifty-year-old dad knocked you to the ground with _one punch_ and your lack of expectation was the only reason it worked?"

"Well. He was angry, too," he said, lamely.

"Don't worry, I find your total wimpishness sweet," Syed replied.

"Says Arnold Schwarzenegger himself."

"No, really, it's nice you use your muscles for good, not evil," Syed said.

"The way I figure," he said, "I wasn't exactly being calm and rational. I kind of deserved that punch, to be honest. Also, I think it hurt your dad's hand more than it hurt me."

"Well, while you're criticising his method, you should remember you're probably the only person he's ever punched."

Christian clutched his hands to his chest. "I feel so proud to have been the first."

"Well, it is quite an achievement to be quite that irritating."

"Like you've never wanted to smack me one," Christian pointed out.

"I have tried."

Christian glanced at the board, at the next departure. "Manchester.Four minutes."

"Manchester, then."

"You sure, Syed?" he asked, and it was clear he wasn't just asking about the train.

Syed nodded. "Yeah. Far as I'm concerned, anywhere but here."

"Never a truer word spoken."

Syed cleared his throat awkwardly. "...you have got enough money for train tickets for both of us, right?"

"Just about."

"I...wasn't exactly thinking and planning ahead."

Christian grinned. "You can tell that by the fact your socks don't match."

"Oh, you're kidding," he said, looking down, only to ascertain Christian was telling the truth. "Great."

"It's fine. Better than fine. A story to tell the... a story to tell people. 'And at last we got together properly, and Syed was in such a mad rush to get to me, he wore one purple sock and one black'. It's all deep and significant, see."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Telling everyone. Now I don't feel idiotic at all."

"All ready to go?" Christian asked, looking at him with so much joy and love Syed was impressed he didn't just burst from it.

Syed resisted the massive urge he had to look behind him. It was important to him that he did this without looking back, metaphorically or literally. "Yes."

_March 2012 _

The phone pierced through the night like a screeching child. If he'd thought it was anyone but Syed, he'd have thrown it halfway across the room. "Sixteen days," came the cheerful reply to his pressing the answer button.

He rubbed his eyes. "That's cute. It's five-thirty. Did you really get cats to cope with the pangs of loneliness? Or does the medicine make you an insomniac?"

"Neither. Just a 6AM start. So what was it you needed to tell me?"

Christian frowned into the phone. "You sound bright and perky considering it's the middle of the night."

"Good night's sleep. And it's not the middle of the night. Anyway, what was it? I need to go soon."

"It's... look, I need more time than you've got, clearly, so... I'll ring you tonight, okay?"

"Christian, what is it? You've got me worried here. This is, like, the third time you've not told me what's going on."

"Nah, Sy, it's nothing, really. I would've told you if it was an emergency. It's just a long story, yeah? Don't be getting your knickers in a twist about it."

"Okay."

"It's really not important," he said, then realised he'd probably protested a bit too much.

And, sure enough, "The more you say it..." He could just about hear his knickers twisting. He rolled his eyes. Asking Syed not to fret about something was like asking it not to go dark at night.

"Right, sorry. I'll call you tonight, when I've had more sleep and I'm not so terrible at this whole communication thing."

He didn't get the opportunity to ring him. The moment he'd estimated Syed would get in from work, the phone rang. "Okay. What is it? It's not an emergency. So. Long-term illness? And you want a private hospital? Because it's too serious for the NHS? That's why you're asking about the finance? Seriously, this is where my mind had gotten to, Christian."

"Has anyone ever told you you worry too much?"

"A few times. And I have good reason for it."

"It's not that bad," Christian told him.

"_Not that bad_. That's reassuring," he commented dourly.

"It's Masala Queen. It's... in... bad shape."

There was silence on the other end for a while."Bad shape as in barely breaking even or...?"

"Or. Definitely 'or'," he said with certainty. "I've seen the papers, Sy, it's... bad."

"Oh."

"I know we can't do anything to help, really, but I thought you ought to know."

"Yeah, good. That you told me, I mean." He sighed, frustrated. "Why didn't Mum _say_ anything?"

"Um, have you... _met _your mother?"

"I know but... _God_. She is so..." he trailed off, and Christian happily filled in several adjectives that he was sure Syed would never think in a million years. "If I'd known..."

"You'd have done... _what_? Grown a money tree? Say what you want about the power of love, but..."

"Yeah. About that."

"What? Have you got a secret talent I don't know about?"

"Okay, don't get angry?"

"Good start, as ever, Sy."

"I lied to you about how much I make."

"Oh," Christian said, surprised. "That is... good to know."

"But I didn't do it so I could buy a nice car," Syed said, as if that would be Christian's first thought. "Well, okay, a little bit, maybe, but still. Mainly not."

Even though Syed sounded really worried that he was upset, he wasn't at all, he was just confused. "So _why_ did you...?"

"I've got an account of my own, and every month, I put it into it the amount difference between what I actually earn and what I told you I earn," Syed replied, a total non-answer. He should be used to it by now.

"What for?" he asked. He suddenly feared the answer from Syed's evasion: that it was a contingency plan in case they failed.

"For the _future_. I dunno, if one day, we wanted to _buy _somewhere or something... I don't know, permanent? Just... generally, thinking ahead."

"If that's all it is, why didn't you tell me?" he asked, still confused and, okay, maybe feeling a bit hurt. Not by the lying, because what Syed made was his business, he didn't care, but the fact he'd felt the need to hide his future plans from him.

"Because you know what you're like. 'Come on, live a little, money's not for sitting in a bank' and then, boom, we're sitting in a council flat freezing our arses off when we're old 'cause we're skint and spent all our savings on a holiday in Australia."

"That is really unfair..." he replied automatically, before realising it wasn't at all.

He could _hear _the eye-roll coming off the phone in waves."Oh, yeah, it's a real terrible assessment of your character."

"Okay, maybe not," he allowed. "But you could've _told_ me."

"You know how persuasive you are. You'd have me thinking I was an idiot for saving anything at all."

He really had to forfeit that point. "So. What's the damage?"

"What?" Syed asked, confused.

"How much have we... _you_... got?"

"A few grand," he replied. "I don't know exactly. I haven't been checking, really.

Christian whistled appreciatively. "Not bad."

"Yeah, that was a pretty big lie I told. Sorry."

"When did you start earning that much?" he asked. "You haven't been earning that much all along? There's no _way _you'd have let us live in that dive of a flat if you'd had any money like that"

"When you kick up a big fuss about how inconvenient it is for you to uproot your whole _life_ to fit _their _needs, it tends to gain you a bit of bump salary-wise," Syed said, sounding proud with himself.

"That's almost manipulative." He stuck out his lower lip and nodded approvingly. "I'm impressed."

"I didn't want to lie to you or anything, it was just better in the long-run, and I made sure we didn't go without... There's no way I would've bought that car otherwise."

"I'm not bothered. Really, Sy."

"As much as I want to keep it, it just feels wrong to have this amount of money there, when Mum and Dad and your family, too, are struggling on..."

"I know. And, hey, it's probably better I never knew- what you don't have, you don't miss."

"We can save up again. It's not like it's going to cripple us financially or anything," Syed assured him.

"Yeah, I know. And I love the flat, rented or not."

"So how much do you think's going to cover it?" Syed asked.

"I've seen the damage. A lot," he admitted. No point in sugar-coating it.

"All of it?"

"Maybe not quite? Depends what you mean by a 'few grand'. Look, Sy, I wouldn't be so worried about how much to give, but how to get your mother to accept it. You know what she's like."

"It's not my mother I'm giving it to, is it? It's 'the business'. Plus, I know all the numbers of the accounts and stuff. I can just transfer it straight over. She's got no choice but to accept."

"You sure about this, Sy? This is two years' worth of saving right there."

"It's my family, and yours. Of course I'm sure," he replied, sounding almost insulted.

"You know, you could always just sell the car..." he suggested.

"Wash your mouth out. I'm not selling her when I've got all this money getting attractively cobwebby in the bank."

"Of course not."

"I mean, I will, of course I will, if this isn't enough, I'm just joking..." Syed said, as if Christian hadn't realised.

"It's more than enough, Sy, I'm sure. As much as I hate to compliment her, your mother is shrewd. She just needs something- _anything_- and she'll put it to good use," he reassured him.

"Yeah, I hope so."

"I know so."

"Thank-you," Syed said, apparently apropos of nothing.

Christian frowned. "For... my general greatness? 'Cos it really takes no effort."

"I mean, for telling me. You could've kept it quiet to spare me the trouble or whatever..."

"Well, no. What good would that have done? I knew you could help, see."

"How?" Syed asked sceptically.

"I just did. I have faith. You're good at the sort of stuff. Me, not so much."

"I am sorry, for lying to you," Syed said sincerely. "About the money."

"Hey, all's well that ends well, right? Plus, you had good intent to start with. Though when Zainab undoubtedly writes you a cheque in a few months' time to the penny of what you just gave her, we should totally go to Australia."

"I don't want it back..." Syed protested.

"You know what she's like. She won't be able to spend the rest of her life _owing _you. Or anyone. But especially you."

_May 2010 _

Syed could see Christian eavesdropping like the nosy git he was, while attempting to pretend he was staring intently at the contents of the grotty pan, despite the fact he clearly wasn't paying attention because it was almost boiling over. Christian caught his eye once, and Syed indicated the pan with an eye movement, and heard Christian mutter a curse under his breath as he went to sort it.

"Yeah, that's brilliant," he said, loudly enough for Christian to hear. If he was going to be nosy, he was going to get wound up with vague hints a bit first. "Monday's fine, yeah. Great, actually. I'll be there, sure."

"Y'know, if you're arranging dates, you should really inform me first, so I can be out of your way," Christian said as he sat down on the bed in front of him.

"Oh, you were listening to my phone call?" Syed asked lightly. "Wow, I'd never have guessed. You were so subtle about it.

Syed didn't continue with any details, though Christian was looking at him eyebrows raised expectantly. "What? Do you want a drum roll?" he asked, lifting his hands above his knees as if to demonstrate.

He grabbed his hands to stop him. "That won't be necessary. I got a job."

Christian blinked at him in surprise and Syed wondered what he'd been anticipating. "Oh. I didn't even know you'd applied for one."

"Well, yeah. I didn't want to say in case I didn't get it," he explained. "I mean, I know you hate the hotels, didn't want to get your hopes up for nothing, you know."

"While you just _love _them," Christian replied.

"It's better than bridges." He glanced around as if to affirm this was the case. "This one is, anyway."

"That was quick, though," Christian commented. "It's only been a couple of weeks since you started looking. They must like pretty boys."

"Shut up. I do have a degree, you know. And I interview well."

"Yeah, I know. Those are the only reasons I'm with you."

Syed folded his arms over his chest. "Are you going to stop taking the mick long enough to let me talk?"

Christian lifted his hands and gesticulated in a ridiculous manner to say that he would. "Fine. So, Syed, what is your new profession?" he asked, with primness.

"It's at a property firm."

"So, property investor again? Retro," Christian said, nodding approvingly.

"Not so much," he said, feeling awkward, scratching his nose. "It's more at the... selling end."

He waited for the penny to drop, and he knew when the grin spread across Christian's face. "You're an _estate agent_." Of course, Christian would come up with the most unflattering way of phrasing it.

"Well. Not exactly," he answered, even though that was exactly what he was.

"Lying for a living. _Well_. You excel at that, don't you?" he asked, the shit-eating grin still wide on his face.

Syed couldn't tell from his gentle derision whether he was joking that he was a terrible liar, or the opposite. He sat down on the bed beside him. "Look, it's not _ideal_, okay? But it's a job, it's a _good _job. First month's wages should pay the deposit on a not-totally-hideous flat."

"Well done, Sy," he said, with a sincerity that made Syed have to stop himself grinning ridiculously at him. The feeling deflated when he realised he'd never hear his parents say the same thing. Not that his father had ever been quick to congratulate him in any case. Christian patted him on the back, and started rubbing his shoulders in circles. "See, it's all working out."

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"I take it you didn't mention your whole property expertise with the whole going-bankrupt thing."

"I must've forgotten to mention that little detail," Syed replied wryly

"See," he said, and accompanied the syllable with a not entirely pleasant slap on the back, "you're perfect already. When someone complains their house doesn't have a roof, you can just say that."

"Or that," he began, before putting on his best salesperson tone, "they have the clearest possible view of nature. And they'll never need to water their indoor plants..."

Christian smiled. "So can you pull some strings and get us somewhere decent, then? Staff discount, or something."

"I don't think it works like that," Syed replied. "Have to be a pretty huge discount, after all."

"Maybe if you sell five houses, you get one free."

"Fingers crossed," he said, grinning. "But I'll have a look, yeah? I mean askin people 'in the know' if there's anywhere going can't hurt, right?"

"Just don't get into any bidding wars with your clients. Not good customer service, that."

Syed's eyebrows shot up with mock-surprise. "Really? I'd never have guessed."

"And, look, whatever, as long as I've got you, I couldn't give a shit where I live. So don't worry yourself about it, all right? I know what you're like."

They were silent for a few moments, but it was a nice, companionable silence, before a thought occurred to Syed. "Christian, this job... it carries a decent wage, and I know you hate working as..."

Christian tilted his head curiously. "Are you about to suggest you _keep _me?"

Syed rolled his eyes. "You don't have to make it sound so demeaning. It was just a..."

"I didn't mean it like _that_," he said. "It was a joke. I just... look, by 'decent wage', do you mean enough to afford palaces or just scraping by while you're supplementing me?"

Syed took a deep breath. He had no idea what the average flat price was around here, or anything, but he knew the answer from basic common sense. "Well..."

"Exactly. Look, Sy, whatever. This is tiding us over for now. And it's not like I'm cleaning toilets with my tongue, or working sixteen-hour shifts for a fiver, it's just tedious is all. I can cope with tedium. My brother-in-law was Ian Beale, all right?" he said. "It's _fine_. I don't want us scraping by if we don't have to. Things are hard enough without adding _avoidable _financial problems to the mix."

"Yeah, okay."

"It's good, though, this. It's like everything's coming together for us, you know? Finally."

Syed smiled. "Yeah, maybe it is."

A couple of days later, they were lying in bed and Syed could feel Christian nearly drifting off, but knew his fidgeting was stopping him taking that final step. But he couldn't stop himself. That may have been because he was deliberately keeping Christian awake on some level because he wanted to talk, but he didn't think about it too hard. Eventually, Christian grunted, frustrated, "Look, either stop or I'm gonna kill you. At least your corpse will be still. And probably just as cold."

"Sorry."

He stilled for a few moments, but he'd unconsciously started up again at some point because when he was next aware, Christian was elbowing him, not gently, in the side to get his attention. "What is it? Is it this job? Are you nervous?"

"A little bit, yeah," he admitted. It felt like something more than that- like this job going well, it was indicative of their life _together _going well, but he didn't know how to phrase that without sounding like he needed external reassurance of his faith in their relationship. He knew Christian would take it as an insult of one sort or another, and it wasn't worth the fuss.

"Well, okay. But is there any need to fidget on like a puppy with ADHD?"

"Sorry," he said again.

Christian rolled his eyes, and, giving up on sleep temporarily, sat up. "Ugh, look, Sy, you're gonna be fine," he said, but it sounded more like a line to shut him up and get him to settle down and go to sleep, like a kid before his first day of school, than sincerity. Shockingly, it provided Syed little comfort. Christian seemed to realise the lack of feeling in his words after he said them, because he added, "Look at it this way, is it commission-based?"

The question seemed bizarre but he guessed it had to be leading somewhere so he answered anyway. "No. There's a basic rate, and you get bonuses. I think that's how it works."

"Just... think, with every house you sell, you get us one step closer to ours."

"Yeah, but I can't exactly condemn a family of four to a hellhole for us."

"Well, despite the reputation of estate agents, I doubt it'll come to that," Christian retorted.

"You know what I mean."

"Sy, you're going to be _fine_. No, you're going to be great, okay? You're good at this sort of stuff. You're just out of practice. It's like riding a bike, I'm sure. It'll be fine. Cold feet and that. It's natural."

"Right, 'cos I can just imagine you sweating buckets over your first day at a new job."

"Well," he said, "I do think there are bigger things in life to get wound up about, don't you?"

"I wish I could be more like you, sometimes."

Christian gave him one of those self-assured grins that either made Syed want to smile, too, or made him want to throttle him. "Who would blame you?"

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me about the _other_ times."

"Sy. Look, there's no-one depending on you to succeed here. Even if you do crash and burn, it's not like it's a big deal. You'll get another job, you clearly interview well," he said. Syed must have looked horrified at his words, because he could practically see Christian hopping on his bike to backtrack, "You _won't_. I'm just saying. If you were to. Takes the pressure off."

"_I'm _depending on me to succeed here, Christian," he said, and he hoped he conveyed it with enough weight that Christian realised this is _important _to him, but didn't manage to understand the true meaning underneath his words.

"Then, fine. What do you want me to say? That you _have to _succeed at all costs? That the universe is dependent on Syed Masood selling some houses? That'd make you feel so much calmer."

"No... I don't know."

"This is important to you, I get it. So you're bound to be nervous. It's natural. But it's not like they're going to toss you in at the deep-end, is it? They'll ease you in. Test the waters with you. You'll be a desk jockey for a while, probably. It's hardly going to be challenging, nerve-racking stuff, Sy. 'Specially for you."

"Yeah. You're right. They, okay...they said pretty much that, actually."

"See? I know what I'm talking about sometimes."

"Oh, God, I wish I hadn't said the words 'you're right'. I'll never hear the end."

"Aww, I'm touched by your faith in my rightness," he said, and repeated, this time with earnestness, "You're going to be fine. You'll see."

Syed looked at him intently. "How can you have so much faith in me?"

He shrugged. "You're here, aren't you? Nothing you ever do is going to be as hard as what led you here."

And when he put it like that, it was sort of hard to get nervous about something as commonplace and relatively minor as a first day on a new job. If he could be here with Christian, being true to himself, the person he'd never wanted to be, at the cost of so much of what he'd held to be important to himself, then nothing life would throw could be insurmountable.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait _again_. Next chapter's nearly finished, though, so the wait won't be anywhere near as long next time. Hope you enjoy. _

_March 2012 _

Zainab approached him, wearing one of the most infuriated expressions he'd ever seen her wearing. Given that she used to wear a countenance of wrathful fury at a late delivery and he'd slept and fallen in love with her Muslim son, it wasn't something he thought lightly. That said, it was actually kind of amusing at this point. He supposed it would scare a lot of people, but never him. Even if he had been the sort to get intimidated easily, he'd be far too used to this sort of expression to actually feel scared. It would be like the way a person was severely irritated by a car alarm at first, but if that car alarm went off repeatedly for weeks, you'd become inured to it.

"What _right_ did you have to tell him our business was in trouble?" she asked, practically snarling at him.

He smirked. It was his default expression around her, like hers around him was an expression of self-righteous anger. "Nah, he sensed the distress signals, like Batman or something. Y'know what Syed's like. So in-tune with your emotions. Such a sensitive boy he is."

She laughed derisively. "Everything's just a big joke to you, isn't it? What is it, Christian? Haven't had your fix of drama this week, so you decide to create your own?"

When she said stuff like that, he did if other than Syed, she knew him better than anyone, because she knew just exactly what to say to infuriate him. It was quite a talent. She had his number, as he had hers. On some level, they understood each other. When it really came down to it, they were fighting over different versions of the same thing. "This is the _avoidance _of drama, Zainab! Jesus Christ. If I wanted drama, trust me, I'd have the patience to wait a few months til the early previews of _The Tragedy of the Masoods: A Financial Breakdown _came out."

"I would have sorted it out before it reached that point," she said, her voice full of false bravado. He saw right through it, not so much because it was transparent, but because apparently her son had learned that tone from her.

He scoffed. "Oh, really? You'd have asked for help? From Jane? Or-or _Ian_? Yeah, I can see that. You down on your knees. Like when the post office shut down, right? And you told everyone it was just another forced post office closure, but it was your idiotic pride?"

She looked up at him, and there was a flicker of something- _hurt_, he thought. He'd hit a nerve. When the anger returned, it seemed sharper, somehow. "You have no idea the sort of things I reduced myself to in an attempt to save my family from that experiencing that humiliation," she said, through gritted teeth. He frowned, not sure what he'd said, exactly, to create that sort of reaction. He'd expected anger, but the hurt underlying it was unexpected. Wounded pride cut deep in someone like Zainab, he supposed.

"Like _what_, exactly? Never _actually _bothering to tell them you were in _actual trouble_? Hey, sounds familiar. You really want another failure on your hands? Sometimes it _requires help_ to avoid failure. Hell, most of the time success only comes with help from other people. Natural part of life. Deal with it."

She was now scowling at him. "Don't you presume to know my limits on what I would and wouldn't do to protect my family."

"Oh, I _do_ apologise," he replied scathingly, hands clutched together over his chest in a mockery of sincerity. "I _am_ talking to the same woman who was willing to throw her son to the dogs rather than have him labelled with the shame of being gay, right? Or, at least, willing to make him miserable for the rest of his natural-born life? You're right, you're a wonderful parent, how could I possibly question you, O Saintly One?"

"Protecting my family from the shame you sought to bring upon us. Protecting my son from the _sin _you had him committing."

He snorted. "Protecting yourself more like."

"You think I _wanted _to hurt Syed? It was the _last..._" She stopped herself short. He saw it in her eyes for a moment- that she was afraid of giving away a vulnerability he could use against her. As if he would. Even in wars, there were codes of conduct. It wasn't like he actively avoided it, but it would just never occur to him to do it. There were any number of things he would exploit to get at Zainab; her undeniable love for her eldest son was not one of them. It was not a rule that was mutually respected on both sides, of course.

"No, of course not," he answered, earnestly. His voice was still soft, as he continued, "But you were willing to risk that- no, strike that, practically guarantee it- in order to preserve your precious standing in the community."

"It's more than that. In our culture, your standing in the community isn't the opinion of the local gossip-mongers. It's _important_." The words sounded _off_. Rehearsed. He presumed that she'd said some version of that little speech to herself so many times over the past two years that even if she'd managed to convince herself of it at first, it now provided empty comfort.

His eyes narrowed. "More important than your _son_?" he retorted.

She looked him in the eye, chin jutting out defiantly. "My _family _is more important than... one sum part."

He shook his head. "'One sum part'. You are _unbelievable_."

"No, you are," she spat. "Firstly you get involved with something that has _absolutely_ nothing to do with _you_, and then inform my son who had no business knowing? If I'd wished for Syed's help, I'd have contacted him myself."

"When, eh? When your baby son was lying in the gutter beside you, maybe?"

She took a further step towards him, practically sharing an oxygen supply at this point. Her hand was curled into a fist. He'd bet money her nails were digging into her palm hard enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare."

"You know? Most people? When they're had their arses saved by their son? They're _grateful_. Gratitude- an alien concept to you, I know. But you should try it sometime. I bet it'd be a _great _colour on you."

"I don't recall asking for the cavalry to come marching over the hill," she retorted sharply.

"Of course not. A _sane _person would've asked for help _months ago_," he told her. "This's been building for _years, _Zainab. This sort of knee-deep trouble doesn't start in a matter of weeks."

Her glare bored through him as she responded, "It's no business of yours. You may be important to Syed for some godforsaken reason, but you are far from a member of this family."

"Oh, gosh darn, I'm _so_ disappointed. Does this mean I'm not invited to your birthday party? I had a present all ready and _everything_." The glint in her eye was positively murderous at this stage. "Look, frankly, I couldn't care less. Screw yourself to the pooch for all I care. But Syed loves you-_ for some godforsaken reason_- and _I_ will do anything to make him happy."

"Telling him his family... telling him _this_ is making him _happy_? That's a new one," she told him scornfully.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. He was _this close _to just tearing her a new one, but it hadn't gotten him anywhere in the past, and it certainly wouldn't get him anywhere now. He'd never disliked anyone as much as he did her- and he was more than sure the feeling was reciprocated- but he loved Syed far more than he disliked her. That was the only reason he could manage to keep his disgust for what she stood for limited to barbed insults and snide remarks. "_Being able to help _does. Syed was gutted when he heard, you know. But do you have any idea how happy it made him to be able to do 'right' by his family _at last_? Never mind he shouldn't have to feel guilty about a fucking thing, but, God, being able to do something _good _for you? As a _result_ of the life he chose? It means the _world _to him. Maybe you ought to show him a little gratitude, eh? Seriously, Zainab, saying thank-you...I don't think you understand how much that would mean to him. Jesus, you don't even have to _mean _it."

"I'm supposed to accept the money he gained as a result of running off with his_... _with_ you_? Is that what you're asking of me? Not just that, but to _thank him_?"

He shrugged as if he didn't care one way or the other, purely because he knew it'd wind her up. "Your loss," he said, keeping a cool, calm tone. "'Cos Syed, you know something? Is a pretty great person to have in your life. You know that. Having him happy with you? Is pretty much _the _single most amazing feeling in the world. But, hey, you know what?" He felt that smirk return to his face. "Your loss is my gain."

If he hadn't walked off when he did, he was almost positive he'd have had a black eye to write home about. In all honesty, he'd have taken some satisfaction out of pushing her to that if he hadn't been aware how much it would have hurt Syed to find out. Without Syed refereeing, all pretence at civility had disappeared on both sides.

_March 2012 _

The house phone rang almost as soon as he walked in the door. Even three hundred miles apart, they had the sort of domestic routine that Christian would pretend to be horrified by, but privately loved. For all Christian loathed predictability, he loved what it stood for. He'd never admit it aloud, of course, but Syed knew.

"Christian."

"How did you know it was me?" he asked and then, with false gravity, "Sy, I think you need more friends."

"Well, that, or I know that you sit by the clock counting down the _seconds _'til you know I get home. You've probably got the countdown set on your phone."

"Yes, that is exactly what I do," he drawled. "Then I go and worship at the shrine I've got in the guest room. It's got a little sign that says "Shrine of Syed" written in my blood."

"Oh, the writing in blood is a nice touch," Syed commented. "Have you still got the lock of hair?"

"Of course, it's what the whole shrine's centred around."

Syed smiled widely, before what he'd been worrying about all day wiped it straight off his face. "Have you seen Mum today?"

"No," he replied, his voice tight. Christian could lie when it was necessary, but, like most naturally honest people, the lack of experience with it meant when he wasn't trying especially hard, it was blatantly obvious.

His patience was limited when it came to this sort of thing, and he tried to keep his annoyance hidden. "_Christian_. What did she say?"

"Nothing. I haven't spoken to her," he replied, and had the sort of sincerity a half-truth had to it. Syed figured there were technicalities involved. He guessed that the technicality was that they hadn't 'spoken' so much as 'argued'.

"Why are you lying to me?" he asked.

Christian sighed. "I'm not, Sy."

"You _know_ you're just making me think the worst by refusing to just admit that you saw her."

"It's nothing," Christian insisted.

"But there's an it?"

"Fine. Look, I saw her. We... had an exchange of words, as per usual. It was really nothing."

Syed winced. "Was she angry?"

"Not with you," Christian assured him.

"But with you?"

"Well, yeah. What else is new? But she was specifically angry this time. For telling you."

"Oh. What is she at me?"

There was a confused silence on the other end of the line. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, if she's angry at you, what is she at me?"

"I dunno, Sy. I..."

"What?"

"Just... don't expect too much gratitude, okay?"

"Don't worry, I wasn't anyway," he told him. "I know my mother, all right?"

"Yeah, but I know what you're like."

Syed always got irrationally irritated when Christian said things like that in moments like this. Most of the time, it was lovely and comforting to have someone who knew you inside out and backwards, who knew what to say and do to make you feel better. Then there were times like this, when it took on a tone of casual arrogance and verged on annoying. "And what's that?"

"Well, what anyone would be like," Christian said, clearly backtracking a little at Syed's terse tone. "Still harbouring some secret hope in your heart that she'll ring you up and weep with the immense gratitude she feels."

Syed made a noise of derision. "Even if we were how we were before, I wouldn't be expecting it."

Christian chuckled humourlessly. "Well, expecting's different from hoping, isn't it? I'm just telling you: don't get your hopes up."

"Not like I can help it, is it?" he replied.

"True. Just... whatever happens with your mum, try to stay realistic, yeah? A little progress is writ large in your mother."

"What are you going on about?" he asked, bemused.

"Sy," he said, and it was clearly said as a subject-changer.

"Yeah?"

"I think I'm coming back soon."

Despite suspecting a diversion tactic, Syed couldn't help the huge smile that spread across his face. "How soon is soon?"

"I dunno. Jane's operation is next week. After that, maybe? See how she fares up. But she's made of good stock. I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Are you okay?" he asked, hesitatingly. "With coming back here?"

"Syed," he said, quietly. "I want to stay here, in Walford."

Syed felt his stomach sink. "But you just said..."

"Let me finish. I love it in Leeds. I _love _it. Sure, I'd prefer to stay here, but I know you wouldn't love it here. How would it be fair to make you live somewhere you'd be uncomfortable, just to make myself _slightly _more comfortable?"

He didn't want to push it. The last thing he wanted was to talk Christian out of coming home, but he had to ask, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Christian said, and he sounded it. "Y'know, I'd say something horribly cheesy about home being where you are, anyway, but then I'm afraid you'd dump me and then I'd be homeless."

Syed smiled despite himself. "I like how you totally avoided saying it. 'Cos I definitely can't have a boyfriend who says things like that."

"Well, then, since we're finished, I'll hook you and Phil Mitchell up."

"We'd make the perfect emotionally-stunted couple. It'd be beautiful."

"You could declare your love through monosyllabic grunts and punching each other!"

"Sounds perfect!"

"Sy. I'm going. Promised I'd... listen to Roxy complain about her stretch marks or something. Well, she said "hang out" but, to Roxy, that means "moaning"."

"Wow, exciting evening planned."

"I'm sure yours'll be way exciting," Christian said, a weird tone to his voice.

Syed frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

His tone cleared when he replied, "That you'll be asleep by six-thirty after you've watched your Sky-plussed _Dickinson's Real Deal_."

"You know me so well."

"Ugh, I've got, like, five texts. I need to go."

"Christian..."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. See you."

"Okay. Bye!"

Syed stared at the phone, feeling a little disconcerted. Christian had seemed a bit off throughout the conversation, like there was something he wasn't telling him. He was fairly confident it wasn't anything awful, but it unnerved him, regardless. It wasn't like Christian to not tell him anything, so whatever it was must be important for him to feel the need to. Maybe it was like the business trouble, and he would tell him eventually, it was just never the right time. Not that it mattered, really. Christian being a bit weird was nothing compared to the news that Christian would be home, _soon_. A paranoid part of Syed felt Christian remaining in Walford was some kind of foreboding. Even though every time he rang, he was happy and said he missed him, he couldn't quite get rid of that feeling that Christian staying in Walford was more significant than he was letting on. As long as he refused to set a date for his return, the more it felt like it could be a permanent condition. His sudden fascination with his work was largely to shut up this increasingly loud voice in the back of his mind. Christian hadn't set a date exactly, but his 'soon' seemed far more sincere than ever before. Before, when Christian said 'soon' Syed had heard 'I have no idea, but just want to shut you up' but today it had sounded genuine. Syed looked around the flat where he'd spent the happiest months of his life, and allowed another smile to break out across his face.

_June 2011 _

Syed walked into the flat. He had a look around, and somehow, it seemed more cramped and even grottier than it had when he'd left that morning. And that was saying something. They'd decided when they moved to Leeds in March that they weren't doing things halfway. They weren't wasting their money on somewhere _half-_decent. They'd live in a total dump on a temporary basis until they could get the money together for a really nice. As much as it was practical to save the money, it still wasn't particularly pleasant to live through the 'dump' phase. It was far from the worst place they'd lived in, but it still wasn't the sort of place that you bragged about, either. "Christian?" he called. He couldn't quite keep the grin off his face as he walked into the living room.

"You're a bit late," he commented, his tone clearly ringing with 'more like two frigging hours'. "Why didn't you ring or something?"

"Sorry, I got a little waylaid. Wow, I think you _just_ crossed the line into nagging boyfriend. I've been waiting for you to take that final step since you moaned last week about proper toothpaste etiquette."

"You're happy," Christian commented, in the same tone as a person would say 'you're carrying something oddly shaped like a dead body'.

Syed tilted his head at the incredulousness in his voice. "Is it really _that _unusual?"

Christian placed his hands on his waist, examining his face intently. "No. You just normally aren't grinning like a psychotic would-be serial killer after his first victim."

"_I_ found us somewhere to live," he declared proudly.

The grin on Syed's face was suddenly mirrored on Christian's. "Oh, brilliant. What's it like?"

"It's..." he began, and then gestured for a while to try to get across his point, but failed, and just went for one of those words he generally avoided, but it was apt, "_perfect_."

"Specific and not at all subjective," he retorted. "When are we going to view it?"

Syed cast his eyes downward, and decided to go for a truth that wasn't exactly the whole truth, "Anytime you want."

Christian creased his brow. "Oh, I thought you would have to... book appointments, and things. Are you using your spare set of keys? 'Cos I don't think you're supposed to do that."

He sighed. "No... look, okay, don't get mad?"

Christian folded his arms over his chest. "That's always a good start to this sort of thing."

"I've sort of... already... bought it. Well, I mean, put the deposit down. Not _bought _it, because, you know, renting isn't the same as buying and..." He realised he was rambling, and clamped his mouth shut.

Christian was glaring at him. It was hardly unusual, but he'd been hoping to avoid it today, when _he_ felt for the first time, as Christian had said months ago, everything was coming together. "Okay, so let me get this straight, you _bought_ a _house_, where I may have to live for the rest of my life, without bothering to consult me?"

"You should've seen it, Christian!"

"I _would _have seen it!" he pointed out. "If you'd let me. You could've picked up the phone."

He sighed, trying to explain it in the reasonable way he'd been thinking. "No, I mean, it was perfect _and _it was reasonably priced. It was going to go like _that_," he replied, snapping his fingers. "I mean, I wouldn't have heard about it if Stuart hadn't had an ear out for me. I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else getting the place. It was just... exactly as I'd pictured our flat, you know? You'll _love _it, seriously. I wouldn't have gone to such lengths if I wasn't _sure_ you'd love it too."

Christian closed his eyes. "Sy, do me a favour? Please tell me you liked it too, and you didn't just buy it because you _thought _I _might_ like it. 'Desperate to sell' does not sound encouraging."

"Yeah, 'course I actually hate it," Syed drawled, rolling his eyes. "It's actually a sex dungeon. Don't be stupid. I said 'too', didn't I? Look, you know I'm not an impulsive person..."

"I don't know," Christian said sceptically. "You do tend to do stupid things without thinking them through properly. Buying a sex dungeon in Leeds is nowhere near as stupid as when you..."

Syed groaned. "Okay, fine, I get it, I am an idiot, let's _not_ play this game?" he said. "But _this_ wasn't stupid, I promise."

"I just can't believe you expect me to trust you on merit of your taste when you're wearing _that_ shirt."

He glanced down at it, pouting. "I like it."

"Exactly! Your taste clearly cannot be trusted."

"I'm not a professional clothes-buyer, Christian," Syed said.

"Yeah, that's really no excuse," Christian pointed out. "Few people are. You still have _sight_..."

"No, I _mean, _I think a person who works in property..."

"...an estate agent..." Christian said, 'disguising' it through coughing.

Syed rolled his eyes. "I think I know a good place when I see it, okay?"

"Yeah, I know."

"What?"

Christian grinned. "I'm just winding you up. I'm sure I'll love it, Sy."

Syed blinked, bemused. "You... don't mind that I bought it 'without consulting you'?"

"Nah, 'course not, you idiot. You really think I'm an ambassador of slow and steady win the race? Come on," he said. "Plus, it makes me go all weak at the knees when you're all authoritative."

Syed's eyes narrowed, though he felt intensely relieved and some of his prior happiness came rushing back. "I really hate you sometimes."

"Somehow I don't believe you," Christian said. And it was admittedly pretty hard to believe an 'I hate you' that came from smiling lips.

"So," Syed squeezed his wrists excitedly, "do you want to see it?"

"You sound like a little kid at Christmas." He paused, realising who he was talking to. "Or something like that, anyway."

xxx

Christian went around the flat, inspecting every nook and cranny, with a tone of authority, like he actually knew what he was talking about beyond your average layman. It was actually pretty amusing, when his running commentary was dotted with things like 'two bathrooms, brilliant'. He seemed happy with it, though- the most negative thing he'd commented on so far was the street view, which was undeniably far from exciting. But it was better than their previous view of a burned-out factory, so even that was an _improvement_. When Christian eventually stopped doing a bad imitation of a property show presenter, he wrapped his arms around him from behind.

Syed twisted around to half-face him. "So what do you think?"

"It's well rubbish," he said, chuckling by his ear. "Totally can't picture myself here at all."

Syed made a noise of mock exasperation. "Is it possible for you to ever give a straight answer? I mean, really?"

"I think I recoil in horror from anything straight. Sy, I love it," he said, kissing his temple.

Syed smiled, and felt for a moment there was nothing wrong with the world, stood there with Christian's arms around him, in a flat he'd _actually_ be proud to call home. "Yeah, me too."

Christian rested his chin on Syed's shoulder, looking at the living room intently. "Okay, so you didn't pay such a ridiculous amount on the deposit that you can't afford furniture, right?"

"It's _furnished_," Syed pointed out, as if Christian had just thought the couches and tables were projections.

"Well, yeah, but I want this place to belong to _us_, you know?"

"Yeah."

"Plus, that bed doesn't seem to be very sturdy," Christian said.

"I have a sneaking suspicion that that was because all fourteen stone of you was jumping up and down on it like a little kid."

"I was _testing _it. It's got to be able to withstand a hell of a lot more than that," he said. "So when can we move in?"

"A couple of weeks," Syed informed him.

"Oh."

"Well, things need sorting out and..." Syed glanced up and, sure enough, he was sulking like a kid who was told he wasn't allowed to open his birthday presents early, "you are ridiculously impatient. You're actually _pouting_. I swear, if you stamp your feet and say 'but I want it now'..."

"It's not that I don't _love_ the rat-infested dump..."

"It's not rat-infested," Syed protested.

"My apologies. _Cockroach_-infested."

"You're exaggerating. There was one _once_- hardly an infestation."

"The point stands," Christian replied.

"Hey, at any rate, at least there's a light at the end of tunnel now," he said happily. "You think you might be able to settle in _this_ one for more than five minutes before you start itching to move somewhere else? I mean, we've been here a couple of months now, and getting this place... well, I'd quite like to stay here, unlike anywhere else we've lived.

Christian looked around. "I think so. Mostly 'cos the roof doesn't look like it's going to cave in any second. I mean, not that the whole exciting life-or-death that was every morning wasn't _fun_..."

Syed glanced upwards. The ceiling looked remarkably clean and stable by comparison to the current roof over their head. "Yeah, that was pretty much the only reason I went for this place, the roof looked durable."

"Clearly. It's a good roof," he said. His face went all soft and Syed felt his stomach flip. He wondered if it was normal after being with someone in some sense for over two years for them to have the same effect they had at the start of relationship. "I love you, Sy."

Syed stepped forward out of his loose grip to look at the living room more closely. "So, do you want to keep _any_ of the perfectly decent furniture or just waste all our money on furniture we don't actually need?"

Christian followed him. "Well, you know me, I'm such a practical person..."

"Christian..."

"Look, like I said, I just want it to belong to _us_. Things that _we _have chosen, things that mean something to _us_. Not something that meant a lot to... Sally and Bob."

"No, because it'll just be _yours_. I'll suggest something, and then if you disagree, you'll totally steamroll me..."

"Well, I think it's only fair, since you chose the _entire flat_ without me even getting to see it first that I get to choose some small piddly details."

"Oh, yeah, that's fair. Make out like you actually mind when you can use it against me," Syed said. "And you know you don't mean 'small piddly details'. You mean, like, _everything_."

"It's not my fault my taste is unquestionably better than yours."

"I don't know about that, but your ego certainly outweighs mine."

"You love it," he said. He looked like he was examining something, but his eyes were scanning the whole room so Syed wasn't quite sure what. "Now, it's not that I don't _relish _doing something ridiculously domestic like going _furniture shopping_, but knowing us, we'd have some epic blowout in Homebase about wallpaper and end up getting arrested."

"Wallpaper?" Syed asked, frowning. "What's wrong with the decoration?"

"Well, _nothing_. It's _nice_," Christian said, though he did say 'nice' like someone else would say 'unspeakably horrible'.

Syed chose to ignore the tone. He'd become good at that over the past year with someone who wouldn't give a straightforward answer if any other sort of answer was available. "Exactly. And I chose this place because I like it the way it is. Changing everything about it kind of defeats the purpose. I could've gotten somewhere unfurnished much cheaper."

"But... it'd be like moving into someone else's house," Christian complained.

"We _are _moving into someone else's house. You always are, unless you build it yourself."

"But it's supposed to be _ours_. That's the _whole point_, Sy."

"And it'll _become _ours over time," Syed insisted. "We don't need to invest time and money into something that's perfectly fine. If it ain't broke..."

"That's the thing, I'm _not_ fixing it. There's nothing _wrong_ with it," Christian said, glancing around the place. "I just don't want it to be Generic Show Home 16. I want it to _mean _something."

"Look, it's not like we've got some kind of unlimited black hole of money," Syed reminded him. "I'd kind of like to make _next _month's rent, too."

"It's not like I'm planning to knock it down and build a new flat, and fill it with stuff from _Harrods_, Syed."

"I'm just thinking about the long-term..."

"No, you're not," Christian interrupted. "_You _are thinking about _next _month's rent. _I'm _thinking in the long-term. I don't want to sit on someone else's couch and sleep in someone else's bed. Look, it's not like we've got anyone else to think about. We can spend our money on anything we like."

"Yeah, but it'd be nice if we actually _had _any money for, you know, food," Syed argued.

"Yeah, _now _act like you actually eat more than a runway model," Christian said. "We've been bare skint the past year and we've been perfectly fine, Sy."

"It'd be nice _not _to be, though," Syed said. "I've heard actually having disposable income is nice."

"Yeah, and the money can sit in the bank getting all... attractively cobwebby. That sounds like a _much _better idea," Christian drawled.

"Do you really want to be renting forever?" he asked.

"Sy, I don't _care_," he replied.

"You don't want something permanent?" Syed asked.

Christian clenched his jaw. "_I _don't need proof that _we're _permanent," he replied, his voice several decibels higher than it had been previously.

Syed narrowed his eyes at the implication. "Neither do I!"

"Well, then," Christian replied with a shrug, and his voice that smug calm of 'I've provoked the exact reaction I wanted and you've just proven my point' that made Syed want to smack him. "What have you got to prove?"

"This isn't even... you're just..." He threw his arms in the air, acknowledging the irony of his frustration growing as a result of attempting to articulate his frustration. "You're _twisting _what I'm saying. I'm not trying to prove a thing. Renting isn't supposed to be a long-term thing, that's all I mean. It was never the plan. For me, anyway. Not everything I say is an implication I doubt the solidity of our relationship, Christian."

"I know. I get it, Sy, okay? You're all yay-monogamy, and you want us to be a forever-type thing, but you really think paying rent rather than a mortgage really makes any difference to anything? It's just different versions of the same thing- you pay the piper at the end of the month."

"I... guess not," he said reluctantly.

"See, then, we can throw some money around," Christian pointed out.

Syed raised his eyebrows. "Just because the thought of having an actual _mortgage _makes you want to wet your pants."

"Well," Christian conceded, "there is that."

"I knew it, you coward."

"Fine. I'll put my hands up to it. It's not a big deal, anyway, right?"

"Not even a little bit," Syed said. "But are you so commitment-phobic that you'd rather pick a fight than talk about getting a mortgage? We'll probably get one one day. It's financially sensible..."

Christian shook his head. "Over my dead body," he said threateningly.

"If that's what it takes," Syed replied, grinning. "I'll stuff and mount your body."

"To be fair, that pretty much sounds like what you do anyway."

"I just thought. Maybe we should get a house with _white picket fences _and everything."

"Shut _up_."

"Ooh, ooh," he said, clapping his hands, "maybe we could join a _yoga _class together, too? Wouldn't that be your idea of _Heaven_?"

"You think you're funny," Christian commented dourly, but Syed could see the laughter behind his eyes.

"I'm rather of the opinion I am, yes. You could take up knitting or something, too," he said. He looked at Christian more seriously, head tilted. "Seriously, come on, you think I'm really into any of that?"

"I don't know," Christian countered. "You seemed pretty into the idea of it before."

"The _idea _of it, sure. I was into the _idea _of a lot of things," Syed reminded him.

"So, what? You... just don't want it with me?"

"You don't want it with me, either!" Syed reminded him sharply.

"Yeah, but _I_ don't want it at all! It's not like I personally excluded you from my list of "People I Want to Have Some Walton Fantasy With"."

"Okay, I don't want it with you."

Christian frowned, stung. "I'm... glad to hear it?"

"It's not because I don't love you... it's just... it's not the way I see us, you know?" Syed said, knowing it was coming out all wrong but not knowing quite how to phrase it.

"No, I don't?"

Syed scrubbed his face with his hands, feeling uncomfortable with the line of talk, but Christian looked so hurt and confused by what he was saying that he knew he needed to clarify. "I mean, this is _it _for me. You and me. I don't know. I _want_ somewhere permanent, sure. But I don't _need_ the trappings of it. All I need... what I mean is as long as I've got you, I don't care about the rest. That's what I mean."

Christian's countenance cleared at his words. Syed felt his heart lighten. He wasn't the best with words most of the time, when it came to expressing his emotions, so when he managed to say the right thing, that made Christian look like _that_, it always made him happy. Of course, if he was better with words, he wouldn't need the clarification, but that was just the way things were with him. "I'll remind you of this little speech when you see the yoga sign-up sheets."

Syed smiled. "Can you believe we'll actually be _living_ here soon? I can't remember the last time I lived somewhere where hot water was _guaranteed_, not a lottery."

"Wow, when you put it like _that_..."

"I told you you'd love it, didn't I?" he said, with a bit of smugness in his voice.

"You know, it's not very often 'I told you so' _isn't _annoying, but... you were right. We're going to be happy here, Sy."

"Yeah. You're right, we are. 'Cos, I dunno about you, but I was well miserable before. In fact, in that old flat, you made me feel sick. But in this lighting..."

Christian rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. _Proper _happy. Like actual couple happy, not...fugitive happy."

"I knew what you meant," Syed said, beaming. "This lighting _is_ very flattering, though."

Christian grinned. "Is there anyone around to care whether or not this furniture gets defiled?"

Syed pretended to give the matter deep thought. "Y'know, I _think_, technically speaking, it's our furniture now."

"Well, I don't care. Do _you_?"

He was already leaning in as he replied, "Deeply."

_March 2012 _

The knock on the door made his heart lurch up in his chest, thinking of Christian's weirdness on the phone earlier and the certainty behind him saying _'soon'_. Then logic kicked in and told him that Christian wouldn't knock, but would use his key, and would be rather fond of the element of surprise had he not called in advance. It was probably the girl upstairs who'd taken to calling around routinely now Christian was away, who apparently thought that 'boyfriend' was a cute nickname he and Christian had for each other. He almost ignored the knock, because she was nice enough, but flirted terribly and seemed unable to understand the massive hints of 'barking up the wrong tree' he was dropping. However, he didn't want to be rude, and listening to it, the knock seemed awfully insistent, compared to the girl's hesitant, nervous one.

However, when he opened the door, instead of the small, pretty woman he had been anticipating, it was a far more familiar, far less expected face. His mouth dropped open and he was almost tempted to rub his eyes to check he wasn't seeing things. "_Mum_?"


	16. Chapter 16

_Wow, just over a week between updates. Some sort of record, surely, right? Well, for me, anyway, 'cos I, as a rule, suck. I do occasionally keep promises, CC. Call it a slightly early Ramadan present._

Anyway, _I'm a bit nervous about this one. It's not my usual style, really. I mean, it's written the exact same way, but there's a lot more emotion and a lot less humour interrupting the emotional scenes. I'm just concerned it's too much, especially given the nature of Zainab's character. I'm not sure. I generally try to stay away from this sort of thing, because I'm the Chandler Bing of the emotional world. So any feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated. _

_March 2012_

There was a knock on his door, and he figured it was Roxy being overeager. She clearly saw her opportunities as spending time with him daily as a limited time offer and was taking full advantage while she could, particularly as she could currently do it without the chance of Christian bringing along Syed, who she still wasn't particularly fond of. He was disheartened, though, to find that instead of having a relaxing afternoon thinking of the most ridiculous baby names known to man, he was going to have to spend time in the company of the person he liked least in the world. He _really _needed to get back in the habit of locking his outer door.

He leaned his arm against the doorframe, blocking Zainab's way. "You just can't get enough, eh?"

"I didn't come here to argue with you," she said flatly.

"But if you came here for a civil conversation, where are the four horsemen?" he asked, pretending to look behind her. "Or have you decided to go for the pig with wings?"

"I need to talk to Syed."

He furrowed his brow, and rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Um... okay? I'm sure you're aware of this, but he isn't here right now. You not got his number? I mean, I don't blame him for not giving it to you, 'cos, you know, but I'm sure he said that..."

"I have his number," she replied, sounding mildly offended at the implication that she wouldn't have it.

"Do... you need help dialling?" he asked, slowly, wondering if he'd ever quite understood as little about a situation as he did the current one.

She let out a breath that betrayed the frustration she was attempting to hide. "I don't want to speak to him on the phone."

"Uh. Texting, then? Give me a clue here, Zainab."

"I want to _see _him," she clarified, finally. She always had to make things difficult. Even when she wasn't being explicitly malicious, she still made him want to commit violence.

"So... ring him and ask him to come back up? He's busy at work, but I'm sure he'll make the time if you urgently need to speak with him."

"I want... his address," she replied.

"You mean our address?" he replied, because sometimes his mouth liked to say things that hadn't even registered in his brain and made everything worse. It was one of his personal favourite traits.

She looked faintly nauseous. "The address," was, typically, all she would allow him.

He folded his arms over his chest and peered at her curiously. "Why?"

"His... this life..." The struggle she was having with her words would almost have been amusing under different circumstances, so unlike her usual ability to talk shit despite having less than no idea what she was talking about. Under these circumstances, however, he had no impulse to laugh. There was something not only incredibly human about her expression, which was unusual enough, because, frankly, he'd been convinced for years that the place where Zainab's humanity was supposed to be was just an IOU from God, but _familiar_ too. The struggle to get out what she _actually _wanted to say over what she _should _say, without a way to reconcile the two- well, it was hardly anything foreign to him. She was trying to find a midway between saying she wanted to see her son and knowing that she shouldn't. The thing was, as Syed had learned years ago, there was no midway. Either you said what you wanted to say, or you lied. To say something was a half-truth was a misnomer, in the end. Anything but the whole truth was a lie when it came down to it. "I need to see it for myself."

"We'll send you a picture," he said, dismissively. She'd hardly made a convincing case for herself, though the longing in her eyes was evident despite her probably attempting to disguise it. He was certain that Syed wouldn't mind giving her the address, so the fact that she'd lowered herself in her own eyes by coming to _him _meant _something_.

"Are..." she started, a harsh sound no doubt the first syllable of some cutting remark. She stopped short, realising insulting him would get her nowhere. Zainab Masood, learning that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, he thought he'd never see the day. Of course, her version of 'honey' was 'not insulting him' but it was a start, anyway. He was amused to observe she was _literally _biting her tongue. He wondered if she kept it up long enough, it'd be like the telly and she'd give herself stomach ulcers if she kept her thoughts to herself. "Do you have to make everything so _difficult_?"

"What? Did you expect to saunter in here, say 'jump' and expect me to ask how high?"

"I'm not asking you to jump anything. I want my son's address. I hardly think it's an unreasonable request."

"So you can drop in uninvited whenever you want? Seriously, Zainab, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night," he replied, making a show of shuddering.

"It's a four-hour journey," she pointed out, curtly. "I somehow doubt it will become any sort of regular occurrence, or that I'd desire it to be one, even if it wasn't."

"Yeah, see, when you say stuff like that? It makes me _more _inclined to send you to a fake address in Timbuktu, or something."

"I'm only being honest."

"Funny, for such a lying activist, how you seem to have so little understanding of when to keep your opinions to yourself."

Instead of replying, she merely sighed. She wasn't rising to the bait today, and he admired her for it. His attempts at getting at her were only half-hearted, anyway. He could see the genuine desire burning in her eyes, the well-meaning behind her clumsy attempts of expressing herself without giving her hand away. He was only testing her, really, poking her lazily with a stick to see her reaction. If she'd been her usual self, and hadn't been able to prioritise her desire to see her son above her loathing of him, he would have told her to get lost. She loved her son, that much was clear, and always had been, even if he had to attach the "in her own way" disclaimer to it. But she had never put him first, not ever. It was always about the family's standing, about shame, about her thinking she knew what was best for Syed, about what she'd always wanted him to be or _something_. He didn't really _get _it. Syed had tried to explain it more than once, on the rare occasion that Christian's tongue slipped, normally mid-argument, and he let his true feelings on his family's treatment of hi m come out. Christian wasn't exactly a stranger to parental selfishness, but all this stuff about _shame _and _community standing_; it just wasn't in his vocabulary. Or it was, but he didn't really get how it was more important than their child. The world Syed had grown-up in had been a different one from the one he'd been born into, and it was like they spoke a different language when it came to this. The way he saw it, Christian could learn to speak it, but he'd never truly understand it. It would be like how he remembered French in secondary school. He could recite the words in front of him effortlessly, but ask him what they actually meant? He didn't have a clue; they were just sounds. All that mattered to him was that it was cultural standing first, Syed, second. He couldn't have given a shit about their motivations. That was all he _needed _to understand. And while she still wasn't putting him first, really, this was still about _her _and _her _desire to see him. However, it was a start.

He sighed. "Fine. You got a pen?" She shook her head. He sighed. "'Bout as much use as a chocolate fireguard as usual." He went searching through the various counters and through drawers. After a couple of awkward minutes, he managed to scavenge a pen and something to write on. He scrawled the address across it. Then, he continued writing. "Given you directions as well. It's a bit fiddly from the train station if you dunno where you're going. It's close by, though. Walking distance."

She looked down at the torn piece of paper and back up at him, though she couldn't look him in the eye. "I..."

He rolled his eyes. "You're welcome, Zainab."

"Can you... don't tell Syed?"

His face darkened. It had occurred to him to wonder why she didn't just ring her son, who would not only have been willing, but happy, to give her the address, instead of talking to someone she loathed. "Why not?"

"I'm visiting him today. You wouldn't have to keep it from him for long."

"_Today_?" he repeated. "Jesus, what's the rush?"

Still not meeting his gaze, she said, "I think, between us, we've wasted enough time."

Normally, someone refusing to meet your eyes was a sign that they were lying, but, in Zainab's case, it was clear evidence of sincerity. It was just she didn't want him to bear witness to it. "And, what? You want the element of surprise? Want to hide in the kitchen and shout 'boo'?"

She was silent, for what seemed like forever. "I want to see his life," she said, in the end. "Not one he feels the need to construct for me."

He didn't know how to respond to that. He knew Syed, and knew he wasn't ashamed of who he was, and hadn't been for a long time. However, the last thing he wanted to do was upset or embarrass his family, and he'd definitely behave differently if he had hours or days or weeks to prepare for her coming. Before he could formulate a response, She gave him a sharp nod of acknowledgement, the closest to a 'thank-you' he'd ever get, before she turned and walked away from his door.

***  
Syed stood staring at her, and repeated, his tone even more incredulous than before, "_Mum_?"

"Syed," she said, her voice betraying nothing.

He continued staring at her, open-mouthed, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Now, I know I didn't raise such a rude boy. Are you going to let me in?"

He stepped aside without thinking about it, still without uttering a word. He closed the door behind her, and spun on his heel and leaned against the closed door to watch as his mother- _his mother_- stepped across the familiar territory of his living room. It was bizarre, like two worlds colliding. He'd pictured it so many times in various and, as time went on, increasingly implausible circumstances. His mother hiring some sort of private investigator to hunt him down, and knocking on his door- apology on her lips, tears in her eyes. It had been a total fantasy, as detached from his expectations as he'd thought possible and yet here she was. Okay, she was stern-faced and dry-eyed, but still _here_. Standing in the living room. Of the flat he shared with Christian. He felt an overwhelming urge to pinch himself, and probably would have if his mother hadn't been looking at him with an impenetrable stare.

"What- how-" It was only when the words came out of his mouth, revealing his status as a total idiot, it occurred to him that he really should have gotten together his mental processes before deciding to open his mouth. But it was only as the words came to his lips that he knew the obvious answer to the question he'd been about to pose. There were a handful of people who knew their address, but only one person who had any right to give it out. Then he realised what the vital question was. "Why did Christian give you our address?"

"I asked for it," came the totally-helpful-and-not-at-all-frustrating reply.

"And he just... gave it to you? You said 'jump' and he asked 'how high?' Sounds totally feasible."

Her expression went strangely vacant at him saying that. At least, 'vacant' was the only word he could reach for to describe it. It was more like it was so many conflicting emotions at once that they cancelled each other out, but 'vacant' was easier to say. He went to ask her what her problem was, but the look on her face was gone before he could even open his mouth. "He said that... he believed that it would be beneficial to both of us."

Syed had to hold back a disbelieving sound at that. He could just _imagine_ how that conversation had gone, and he somehow doubted the word 'beneficial' had made an appearance.

"Mum. Why are you here? Don't get me wrong, I'm over the moon that you're here. But..."

"We need to talk." He wondered if he had been quite this irritating a couple of years ago, responding to questions without answering them, talking without actually saying anything at all. He'd known it was difficult for Christian when he was like that, but he hadn't realised that it could be so _annoying_.

"There are phones," he pointed out.

"I needed to see you face-to-face. I wanted to see how you'd been living in these last two years."

"This is hardly representative of the entire two years," he replied, sardonically. Then he realised that she probably thought that the derisive tone was aimed at her, when he hadn't intended it to be. He softened his voice, as he asked, "So... what do you think?" He hadn't realised what he was going to say until he said it. He wanted to kick himself. What sort of question was that? "Hey, Mum, what do you think of my gay love nest? Remember? The one I abandoned my family for?"

Surprisingly, she didn't treat the question with the contempt it so clearly deserved. "It's not what I was expecting it to be," was all she said.

He had no idea what she meant by that. He figured it was some kind of underhanded insult, but her tone was clear and genuine, with a note of, if he wasn't mistaken, melancholy threaded through it. "And what were you expecting, exactly?" he asked, his brow creased.

"I never pictured it," she told him.

He cocked his head to one side, examining her intently. "What? You figure we slept in a car for the past two years?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light-hearted, but it was a struggle. He could imagine the sort of thing she'd been imagining- something dirty, sordid. And, okay, fair enough, the places they'd lived before this place were far from the high life, but trying to see their life through the prism of her prejudices made him feel a bit sick.

"I don't know. I just never gave the practical side to your desertion much thought," she replied.

For a moment, he was relieved. She hadn't expected them to be living in the toilet of a club or something, but rather the normalcy of it all hadn't occurred to her. Then what she had _actually _said sunk in. That word stung- 'desertion'. Particularly the way she flung it at him so casually as she sauntered slowly over to the couch. What hurt the most was she wasn't even _trying _to upset him. She considered his flight _desertion. _It wasn't something she said to send him on a first-class journey to a guilt-trip; it was simply how she saw it. It was just an inborn talent, apparently, being able to hurt people without even trying. She'd always been good at cutting people to the quick. As he looked up, he realised she stopped dead several inches short of the couch, staring at something in the distance. He was confused, looking around for the offending object. The place was spotless and Mary Whitehouse herself would have struggled to find anything offensive about it. Eventually, he followed her gaze to the room opposite. The bedroom door had been left open, the double bed clearly visible. He was tempted to go and shut it, but he figured that would just make it even more conspicuous than it currently was, and would make out like he was ashamed of the fact he and Christian shared a bed, which he wasn't. He was just uncomfortable with her discomfort. "Mum?"

She snapped back into focus. "Yes?"

He was unsure, exactly, what the custom was for having your mother appear without forewarning at the flat you shared with the boyfriend you ran off with to avoid the glare of her disapproval, but there was one thing that seemed appropriate in any circumstances. "Do you want... a cuppa or something?"

"No, I'm fine."

He was disappointed at her refusal. Making cups of tea was something he could do without thinking. It wasn't painful or confusing or awkward. The possibility of busying himself with such a simple task had seemed like such a reprieve from the uneasiness of his current situation. He knew how to make a cup of tea; he had no idea how to talk, _really _talk, to his mother. "I can virtually guarantee you won't catch anything."

"I wasn't worried," she replied, but given the way she was gingerly sitting on the couch as if it was preparing to eat her, he suspected at least a small part of her was.

If she wasn't going to allow him to perform the general customs of having a parent over at his first real home, he wasn't about to acquiesce to them, either. There was no point in playing games. If he'd learned anything in his life, it was that. Cutting straight to the chase was the most painless thing to do in any painful situation in the end. "So, not to be rude, but what do you want, exactly? I figure you don't travel four hours for a _chat_."

She cleared her throat and looked the closest thing to 'awkward'he'd ever seen his mother looking. Observing her as she opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, he realised he'd never seen his mother seeming so _small_. Of course, physically, she was slight, but in his mind, he was still five-years-old and she still towered over him, always an intimidating presence in his life, even when the main problem between them had been an overindulgence of love rather than shame. "I wished to... thank you, for the money you gave us," she said in the end.

It was far too stiff and formal than a show of gratitude ought to have been, but he knew, from his own experience, that sometimes being able to say the words was much more important than the manner in which they were said. "And you had to come _all _the way down here to say that?" he asked, arms folded over his chest as he peered down at his mother. He knew he should sit down next to her, come down to her level, but he felt so ill-at-ease that towering over her was the only thing giving him any comfort. She might make him feel six inches tall, but if he could physically hold himself high, then it might translate to some sort of emotional empowerment, too.

"I... thought, with a... loan that large, a phone call would not suffice."

"It's not a _loan_," he replied, leaving no room for argument in his tone.

Being his mother, who could find a fight in an empty room, she found argument anyway. "You expect me to accept it as a gift?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"I suppose not," he replied, reluctantly, although that had been the spirit in which he'd hoped she'd take it. "But you're not giving me a penny of that back until you can _comfortably _afford to pay it back, okay? Otherwise we're going to be straight back here in another two years. You got it?"

"That sounds... reasonable." She stared at him a long moment. "You remind me of him."

"Who? Christian?" He barked out a laugh. "The six-feet tall, muscled white bloke? Yeah, I can see the resemblance. People always think we're related when we're out."

She gave him a withering look. "It's not a physical resemblance," she replied. The 'you idiot' was implied. "It's the way you hold yourself. Some of your body language. Some of your turns of phrase. They're like his."

"I suppose you live with someone long enough, you..." he paused, itching his nose uncomfortably, "pick up on these things."

"You're different, Syed," his mother commented, her tone alarmingly gentle.

He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so replied as neutrally as he knew how, "It's been two years. I should hope so."

"You don't seem..."

"What?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"Well it mattered enough for you to say it in the first place," he told her sharply.

"You don't seem like my son anymore."

Oh, that lovely I've-just-been-slapped-in-the-face feeling his mother was always so good at evoking in him. He couldn't say he'd missed it. "I am. I'll..." he trailed off. "I'll always be your son."

"Yes," she agreed. "It's just... difficult to see you like this."

"Like _what_? Happy? Actually properly happy for the first time since, like, I hit puberty, and you find it _difficult_ to see me like this?"

"It's not difficult to see you happy. It's just... you're not like the son I knew."

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I haven't changed, Mum. Not really. I'm still the same person in every way that counts. Maybe I'm not the son you _knew_, but I'm the son you always had, whether you choose to see it that way or not."

She was quiet, contemplative. She was _examining_ him. It was the only word for it, almost like a scientific curiosity. He didn't think she would find much different to 'the son she knew' if that was what she was looking for. He'd never been a good liar, but after years of it, slipping into _perfect son _mode didn't even feel like lying. It had become second nature to him. But he remembered how much it had hurt that he'd needed to adapt that persona for his family to accept him. How alone he'd felt, even when he was so surrounded by love he sometimes felt suffocated by it. It was then he felt an overwhelming need for her to know how difficult it had been for him to be that boy, the person she thought of in her heart of hearts as her _real son_. The one that, he could tell, she was expecting to return to her one day. Eyes full of tears and an apology on his lips for all the pain he'd caused. Just like his own fantasies of a similar circumstance, positions reversed, it was never going to happen.

"The first time it happened..."

She reared back from him. "I don't need to hear this."

"You do," he said, gentle but still firm. "The first time it happened, it... it hurt so much. I hadn't realised I was capable of feeling so ashamed. I felt dirty, full of sin. I thought God was punishing me for being weak, for giving into these urges that He had given me expecting me to be able to overcome them. I prayed so hard for _weeks_. I remember one time I prayed until my throat was sore. Begging for forgiveness, but receiving none. I'd failed Him. I'd failed you and Dad, our entire family. I'd failed myself. I felt _sick_. I needed to do _something_, _anything_, to make you and Dad proud of me again. At my graduation, you were glowing with pride, and I felt so unworthy of it, you know? There I was stood and you were beaming at me, and all I could think of was how I'd let you down. Not only had I let you down, I didn't have the courage to tell you that I had, so I was stuck with all this... pride I didn't deserve. It wasn't long after it first happened... a couple of months, I think, that I stole the money. I _needed _to make you and Dad proud of me."

"I _was_ proud of you..." she attempted to cut in.

"_Actually _proud. I wanted- needed- to do something that was more... worthy of pride than my sin was of condemnation."

"And... embezzling our money... how was that... I'm trying to understand here, Syed, I am, but..."

"I didn't see any way I could fail, Mum. I'd only really failed at one thing in my whole life, and it had nothing to do with business. It... _literally_ didn't occur to me that the money wouldn't be returned to you tenfold. It sounds ridiculous, but failure just... wasn't an option. If I hadn't been so... hyper-focused on making you proud of me, I would have seen the wrong I was doing. How this was no way to make you proud of me, no matter how confident I was about success. But I was so hell-bent on making you proud... I was blind to failure. I couldn't not succeed. If I failed at this... well, it wasn't a possibility worthy of contemplation. I was such an idiot, but I was a _mess _back then, Mum, seriously. Just... a total wreck. Psychologist would have had a field day with the mental gymnastics I was performing to keep myself in denial. All that, and I still lost you, in the end. I lost you because of trying so hard to keep you. Guess I should appreciate the irony or something."

There was silence for an uncomfortably long time. She wasn't looking at him, but some indistinct point on the wall behind him. "I don't know what you want me to say," she said, at last.

"You don't have to _say _anything," he whispered. "Just... listening's enough. I just... want you to understand this wasn't easy for me, okay? This... me being _here_, leaving you, it was _the _single hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Because I could not love you more. And I wanted to make you happy, I _did, _but... I couldn't, really. You wanted the genuine thing, and all you would've gotten would've been a cheap imitation. You deserved better than some fake. And so did I. Taking myself out of the picture was better."

_"Better_?" she repeated, bitter and incredulous. "How is... how is this _better_?"

He took a deep breath, and hesitated, though he knew exactly what he wanted to say, "Because I would have ended up hating you. And you would have ended up hating me."

"I could never hate you," she replied, so quickly it could only have been an automatic response. He almost smiled, that this instinct not to hate him was so inborn into her, that this was her automated answer.

"Resenting me, then. It's all the same. At least this way, it was a clean break."

She shook her head, half condemning him, half pitying him for his lack of understanding. "A clean break? Syed, the ties you have to your children... there's no such thing as a _clean break_."

"It's cleaner than years of built-up resentment, Mum. I just couldn't bear that. I can't imagine the day that I would have resented you more than I loved you, but... maybe I'd have reached it. I couldn't risk that."

She regarded him for a moment. "Do you... do you not want children?" She must have saw something in his face harden, despite his attempts to disguise it. "I know, I know, you think I'm obsessed, but... I'm genuinely curious."

"I... wish I could have spared you all of this. I wish I could have been the son you wanted, the son you thought you had, and that I could have given you everything you expected of me. But I'm not, and if having all of those things meant I couldn't have Christian? That I'd have to live... some half-life where happiness I would ever experience would be tainted by none of it being real? Then I don't want them."

She was silent.

"Look, at the end of the day, you've got Shabnam. You've got Tamwar. You're going to have grandchildren. They're... just not going to be mine."

"It was never about grandchildren, Syed," she told him.

He grunted. "Right, okay. Whatever you say. That why you salivated every time they got mentioned?"

"Don't get me wrong, I _wanted _them, Syed. It's every mother's dream, isn't it? To see her children experience the same gifts as herself? That's what I wanted for you."

"I'm sorry, Mum," he said, quietly.

And it was the truth. He always would be sorry that he'd let her down. He could never bring himself to _regret _leaving for Christian, exactly, but he would always feel guilty about it. Besides, in his mother's eyes, it wasn't the running away that had been the ultimate crime, in the end. The running away, she could have forgiven. The crime was that he was gay, and it wasn't like he could help that. There wasn't an opt-out clause. Because, God knew, if there'd been one, he'd have found it. He loved his mother more than sense, but he couldn't build a false life for her and live it out for decades. He could have, maybe, before he met Christian. But after he'd experienced how it was supposed to be, he couldn't live with the imitation. There was no way. After experiencing life through Christian, and his love for him, the life offered to him by his parents seemed hollow. Before, it had seemed at least _acceptable _or at least the lesser of two evils. When he didn't know any other way, simply being accepted back into the folds of his family had seemed like more than he deserved. Being gay was associated with shameful, sordid one-night-stands that had been a short-lived relief. They had been about a more physical release than a mental one. Though the rush of freedom during those brief encounters had been more memorable than the experience themselves, it was all about the physical ache overwhelming him, in the end. It was all about his physical desires, ones that had repulsed him the next morning as he escaped, feeling dirty putting on the previous day's clothes. With Christian, it had been something else entirely. Sure, the physical desires had played a huge part, especially in the beginning, but being with Christian, he felt more like _himself _than he ever had. Even the first time, when it was purely fuelled by lust, there was something else to it, something he hadn't felt with his other one-night-stands. It was like he hadn't even known himself, his own body, what he was a capable of feeling for another person, of what another _man_ was capable of making him feel. He wouldn't say Christian had _given_ his life meaning, but changed what it was supposed to mean. He had thought, before he'd fallen in love, that making his family proud was the only thing that could give his life meaning. His self-worth had been so paltry that he could only define his happiness by the happiness of others. Christian had taught him not only how to love, but how to put himself first. And maybe it should have been a bad thing, because love wasn't supposed to make you _more_ selfish, but it wasn't. Living your life for someone else would never work out. At the end of the day, you were the one who had to live with it.

She didn't do what he wanted her to- tell her he shouldn't be sorry, that she understood it wasn't his fault. She did, however, do exactly what he expected her to do- she nodded, accepting the apology, though her face gave away that she wasn't particularly comforted by it.

"What was it you said to me when I was a kid? You can't always get what you want?"

"I'm well aware of that. But I think you'll understand more than most when I tell you that I can't stop wanting these things for you."

"Yeah. I understand," he replied, though he wished he didn't. He wished he could get angry at her for still wanting him to straighten up and fly right, fall into line, and live out the apple-pie, white-picket fence, two-point-four children existence she'd always expected of him. But he couldn't. How could he? He'd desired- at least, wanted to desire them- all of those things so badly for most of his life. Maybe he'd mostly wanted them because she wanted- _needed_- those things for him and from him, but he'd still _wanted _them. He didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to wanting things he could never have. That wasn't precisely true- he _could_ have had it all. The thing was that it all would have rung hollow without real love, without truth. He would have loved Amira and he was sure he would have adored his kids, but it would have meant nothing. It would have been little more than being an actor in a play, playing out an existence that didn't truly belong to him. He was sure, now, in the end it would have hurt everyone involved. He wondered how long he could have kept up the pretence. In truth, he had no idea, but he knew enough to know it couldn't have lasted forever. He'd loved Christian too much to stay away from him _forever_. That was, after all, how he'd ended up here. It was more than that, though. He wondered if, even without Christian, how long he could have managed. It was one thing keeping up the pretence of a relationship when you could pick and choose when to see the other person, when you lived separately. But sharing a home with them, going to sleep with them at night, and waking up with them in the morning, was something else entirely. He wondered how long it would have been before he'd grown to resent Amira for representing his sham life, for him not loving her the way he should, for not being Christian. He wondered how long it would have been before she'd grown to hate him, his distance, and his lack of affection. How long before she'd have strayed, before she'd broken down and asked for a divorce. If she ever would have, or would have resigned herself to the life as he had. It didn't matter, any of it, because he _hadn't_ chosen the life that his mother expected of him, the life that he had expected he would have been able to settle for when the chips were down. He had chosen this, and it wasn't perfect, far from it, but he knew deep down to his bones, that he'd made the right decision. He felt guilty for hurting his family, and he would never stop feeling that way, but if he could go back, he would make the same decision again. In fact, if he could go back, he would have made the decision and spared himself- and Christian, and Amira- so much heartache.

"Do you worry about...?" She swallowed, and it wasn't often he saw his mother struggling for words. It had happened several times so far in this conversation. "Do you think about Hell?"

"All the time," he admitted, quietly. It was the sort of question Christian would never think to ask. Despite his accommodation of his faith, Christian wasn't a religious person. It wasn't that he didn't care, far from it, it would just genuinely never occur to ask him such a question and Syed had always been grateful. He thought about it often, but he generally preferred not to ponder about it for too long. Vocalising his most private fears was something he didn't have much desire to do. If Christian had asked, he would have received the same answer.

"Do you think you're...?"

"No," he replied, to the question he knew she'd never be able to complete. "If... I don't think He sends people to Hell for this. For being happy. For being in love. If He does, maybe that isn't the sort of God I want to worship."

"Syed, you know..."

"What do I know?" he retorted. "What I know is that I've been told my whole life that what I am is wrong. What I feel is unnatural, against God's will. What I know is that I've been told all this, but I've never _felt_ it. I just about convinced myself that I thought it, but I never felt it. When I'm with Christian... nothing could feel more natural, or right."

"Syed. Just because you feel something's right doesn't mean it is."

He managed to hold back a begrudging snort that _his mother _of all people was sat in front of him saying that, and continued calmly, "This isn't just how I feel, Mum... I _know_. I _know _that I love Christian. And I know that that love isn't dirty or sinful. It's...the most beautiful thing in my life," he said. "And I know you can't understand that, Mum. God, I wish you could. But I need to tell you that. I need you to know that this makes me happier than anything you ever wanted for me."

"I promise you, Syed," she said, raising her arms so she could hold his face in her hands. "Nothing on this earth can compare to your love for your children."

"I'm sorry that I'll never find out," he replied.

"So am I."

He smiled sadly. "It's not like you have to have children to be happy, Mum. Plenty of people manage. I'm sure we'll _scrape by_."

"Yes. You always do. Your father always said you'd land on your feet," she said, and sounded like she was reminiscing, a little.

"I do love you, Mum," he assured her.

From the look on her face, an outsider would have assumed he'd just said something offensive. "Why do you say it like that? Do you think for one second, I ever stopped loving you? It's not something you can switch off like a leaky tap when it's inconvenient. If I could have, with the amount of pain it's caused me...I would have. No matter what, I've always loved you, and I'll never stop."

His eyes filled with tears, and he felt silly for it. He rubbed furiously at his eyes with his fist, hoping his mother, who was staring down at her lap wouldn't notice. He couldn't talk without giving himself away, so he listened instead as she spoke. "No matter how it seemed, I always acted out of love, Syed. I never did anything for you that I didn't honestly believe would benefit you in the long-run. The problem was, I never thought that what I was doing could harm you more than it was worth. I thought there was nothing worth more than having a normal family. But I was... seeing you happy like this, this is all I ever wanted. I thought the only way to make you feel like this was to... act as I did. I thought that this... whole thing was something you could get over. That if I could get you away from that man's influence... that you would get better. But I see now. This isn't a transient phase, or some belated form of rebellion. It's not who I wanted you to be, and this life isn't what I wanted for you, but this is a part of you. I'm not going to lie, Syed, it's pointless at this stage. I wish things were different. I wish _you _were different. But, being your mother, I'm glad you're happy. Seeing you like this, I... I'm glad that there's something that makes you feel this way, even if... even if I don't- _can't_-approve."

And, with that, for the second time that day, his mother had rendered Syed totally speechless.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: Two months? Argh, I realised I sucked, but not that badly. In fairness in that time I've gotten my A-Level results, gotten into uni and left home, so that's a small excuse, I hope. _

_This chapter is brought to you by Emotional Blackmailing. Love to the WFCTGIO thread, as ever. _

_Oh, and if this sucks, you can direct your hatemail to asyousay. I'll totally give you her home address._

_March 2012 _

Syed and his mother sat for a while, him unsuccessfully trying to stem the flow of tears, her still dry-eyed and yet somehow still as emotional as he was. She'd always been better at hiding her weaknesses than he had.

"I just wish..." his mum began, apropos of nothing, except maybe a need to interrupt the silence. "Well, you know what I wish for."

"...that Christian wasn't the one making me happy?" he completed. "Well, I could see if he could make me miserable, if you want."

She smiled, not entirely without humour, and lifted her hand, wiping away his tears with her thumb, and it felt like the most motherly thing she'd done in years. "Ask him if he could. I would be justified in my hatred of him, then." She sighed, looking out of the window into a darkening sky. "I've spent the past two years despising him. Blaming him for taking my son away from me. Wishing he'd never come into our lives. Wishing you'd never met..."

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then," he muttered.

"Syed, I'll never like him. How _can _I?" She paused. "I've tolerated his presence for _weeks_, what more do you want? I find him repulsive on many levels. All levels, actually. Apart from one."

Syed frowned. "And what's that? His winning smile?"

"You mean that arrogant smirk of his? No. Hardly," she replied, and he was fairly sure he saw a shudder of revulsion. "I mean the way he makes you happy. I'm rather fond of that quality of him. I completely fail to see _how _he makes you feel that way, or why, or what on earth you see in him above all others, but that's neither here nor there."

"That's _something_, I suppose," he replied, something of a massive understatement. He didn't want to give his mother the impression that her finding his boyfriend one- small- step short of repugnant was some kind of massive achievement, even though he thought, by his mother's standards, it was something equivalent to discovering that the sky was actually green.

"Syed, no matter how much I wish..." She let out a sigh of frustration, or possibly disappointment. "No matter how much I wish things had turned out differently? I'm... glad that you've found happiness. Life isn't easy, it never is. Happiness is difficult to find. And I'm pleased you've achieved what most can't- true contentment. I know things have been... difficult, for all of us. But I've never seen you like this. Never. I thought I saw it with Amira, but that was just the illusion, wasn't it? With her, I thought I saw the sun in you, but it was only the moon. The reflection of light from another source."

After that, they chatted mindlessly about monotonous things like his baby brother and his job. It was nice, it felt _normal_, natural. Like they were just another son, another mother, and this was just an everyday event. His mother glanced at her watched and gave a sharp intake of breath. "Syed, I have to go," she said, suddenly.

"What?" he asked incredulously. "You only just got here."

"I know, but I need to get back. I don't like being away from my baby for hours, Syed, never mind all night. I could never settle knowing he was there and I was here."

"I know how you feel," he told her, without giving it much thought.

She understood his meaning. His mother was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Deliberately ignorant when it suited her purposes, certainly, but never stupid. "Why is he still lurking about in Walford, anyway?"

"For Jane."

"And there was me thinking she had a husband. And two almost-adult children. And friends."

"I think he feels guilty for not being there all this time," he said, making it clear he wasn't just talking about Christian.

"There's a lot of making up to be done on all sides, I think," she responded, quietly.

"Yeah. It's... all of this, it's a start."

She nodded.

"Can I...?" He opened his arms and it was one of the best moments of his life when his mother nodded. She wrapped her arms around him. It was awkward, he thought as he closed his arms around her, and far from the most comfortable embrace he'd ever experienced, but it was the most meaningful, too. She was perpetually warm, his mother. He'd adored it when he was a kid, was always asking for hugs, because there was nothing more secure than his mother's warmth and comfort. When he was feeling cheekier, he'd sneak up on her and place his hands on her stomach or back under her shirt, because his hands were always freezing and the contrast to the warmth of her skin would make her jolt in an amusing fashion. He didn't find it so amusing when she was shouting at him, but he persisted in doing it until he outgrew it.

They stayed in the hug, slightly stiff and formal as it was, for what seemed like forever. She was, unsurprisingly, the one who pulled away first. He _could _have stayed there forever. "I need to go," she repeated.

"Mum, really, you should stay here tonight," he offered.

"No, I need to get home," she said, her voice as firm as it had been when he'd asked to stay up another hour as a kid.

"But... eight hours travelling in, like, ten? Don't you think that's a bit much? Look, by the time you get home, the baby'll be asleep anyway..."

"I still want to be there when he wakes up," she said, fidgeting with her bag. "I've never been apart from him for a whole night before."

"You know, not being overprotective does a kid a world of good," he commented.

She looked up at him, a bit stung, but didn't say anything.

"Not that I meant you were... I just mean..." He sighed, rolling his eyes. "I want you to stay here tonight."

"You... you only have one place to sleep," she said, a reluctant glance up to the door of the bedroom he shared with Christian.

"We do have a guest room."

"For your many guests?" she replied, a little scornfully, but not with any particular bad intent.

"Funny," he retorted. "Your perfect flat comes with two bedrooms, you take it with two bedrooms, right? Better too many rooms than not enough. Seriously, it's fine. It's nice. You can have a look if you wa..."

"No, Syed. I really do need to get home to my son."

He had the overwhelming, childish urge to say something like "I'm your son, too" before he realised he was far too old to be suffering from elder sibling syndrome. He had to admit, though, deep down, he was a little jealous. The sort of love his brother had, he'd once had. And he still did, in a way- his mother wouldn't be here, otherwise- but that sort of blind, unquestioning, unconditional love, he'd lost that years ago. He missed it. He missed his mother loving him without question, not _wishing she didn't,_ so it would stop hurting, for God's sake. He missed being able to screw up and his mother taking him in her arms and telling him it was going to be okay. She never would, again. He messed up, and he was the one who had to deal with it, without her. That much was clear. And Christian was more than enough compensation for that loss, but it wasn't the _same_. There was no substitute for what he'd lost, and a part of him can't help but miss being a kid, when everything was so simple and straightforward. When him screwing up was limited to going too near a fire or getting a bad mark on homework. When his mum could make everything okay. Because, now, even if she was willing to, she couldn't repair the damage they'd both reaped on their relationship. It was too little, too late. They could build something new, maybe, but it'd be something entirely different. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it would be a relationship where she actually treated him like an adult who was capable of making his own decisions, his own mistakes. It didn't stop him missing what they used to have, and wishing there was some way he could have kept what they had before without compromising who he was now. Now, he was a person who actually liked himself, who had a good life, a _happy_ life, with someone he loved more than anything. He just wished there was some way his mother could fit comfortably into this life he'd established for himself, or a way he could comfortably fit into hers. But there wasn't. They would both have to make compromises to fit into each other's lives. Syed didn't mind, as such, he just wished it wasn't necessary. That their relationship was something that just existed without needing to be worked at, like so many parent-child relationships.

He wished that they could just have stupid, normal arguments about him wearing inappropriate outfits to mealtimes, and normal criticism of the way he lived his life, and a normal level of distaste for his choice of partner. Criticism that was born out of love for who he was and that he deserved the best, rather than being born out of hatred for who he was and wishing he was someone else. He loved his mother but, like her, he wished things had worked out differently. His happily ever after involved a totally opposite version of 'differently' to hers, though. She wished that he'd wake up straight tomorrow and realise the error of his ways. He wished that she'd wake up tomorrow and recognise that Christian was the best thing that had ever happened to him, instead of the worst. Both wished for things that were never going to happen. It was why their relationship would never be the same, because they both wanted completely opposite things equally. Something had to give, but neither of them was willing to give it. Instead, they would just have to take from the other whatever it was they were willing to compromise. It wasn't much and it was far from ideal, but it was _something_. It was better than the complete blank of the last two years, the silence that left a gap in him that Christian could never quite fill, no matter how much he loved him. He wanted the best of both worlds, but he knew from his experience, that didn't work out so well. Mostly because instead of the 'best' of both worlds, he got the worst. He got hurt looks after he left before midnight, and suspicious looks when he returned after, with creased clothes and a guilty look he could never quite conceal. He had to throw his lot in with one side, and he'd gone for the one that risked the most, but had the potential best benefit. He'd incurred major losses by throwing all his eggs in one basket, but he'd be hard pressed to say he regretted it.

"Okay," he said, eventually. "I'll drive you to the station."

"Thank you," she replied. It occurred to him, then, she hadn't taken off her coat or shoes. How uncomfortable she looked here.

He smiled at her. He felt a little uneasy about this whole encounter, he wasn't quite sure what it meant for them in the months to come, whether it had been progress or just a clarification of the position she'd already seen them as being in. His heart told him to be happy, that she was here at all, not to overthink it, to just go with it. His head, though, couldn't help but wonder what it all meant. Then, he'd learned a lot from listening to his heart, so he took her hands, which were perpetually warm, and remembered how, when he was a kid, on a cold day, she'd take his hands between hers to warm them up and how he'd never felt safer than in those moments. It'd take two decades before he'd find that sort of complete peace and security again. Neither of them said anything, but her mouth moved in what could definitely been defined as a smile- well, for a certain definition of 'smile', anyway. It was so subtle it was possibly wishful thinking on his part, but he'd take it.

xxx

Syed had dropped her off at the station with no fanfare. The car journey had been silent and more than a bit awkward. He'd kept making pointless small talk about the weather or the song on the radio, because awkward silence wasn't exactly anyone's idea of fun. She'd acknowledged him, but the conversation had kept dying. It had been a short journey, so the torture had been short-lived. He supposed after saying everything both of them had wanted and needed to hear for two years, there was nothing to follow it up with. They had both been emotionally drained from the most honest conversation they'd ever had. At least, it had been the most honest conversation they'd had that didn't involve insults and screaming and disowning. As he slumped to the couch, completely exhausted physically as well as mentally, he was keenly aware of the absence of warm arms and softly-spoken words. He'd have to make do with the cold plastic of a phone and words without expression.

"Y'know," Syed said, by way of introduction, "in some places, it's not considered kosher to give a person's address out without said person's permission."

"The way I figure," Christian replied, "you can do whatever the hell you want with your own address."

"Actually, by your logic, you should only be able to give out half of the address. So, street name and number, fine. And I'll give you county. But, town and postcode are mine. Therefore, you have totally violated my privacy and I'm very offended."

"Clearly," Christian dragged out. "I can practically feel the vibrations of your intense rage through the phone. It's, like, shaking in my hand." He paused. "Seriously, Sy, it's your mum."

"Exactly, it's _my _mum," he repeated back at him, with a note of incredulousness that Christian seemed to be implying that it being _his_ mother somehow made it better not _worse. _

"You mean she put a stop on all the 'our' stuff? Damn. Better go get that birthday card signed by both of us out of the post box. How embarrassing."

"I just meant, you know what she's like. She could've been coming up to tear me a new one, not..." He had no words to describe exactly what had happened between him and his mother. She hadn't apologised, as such, and he didn't really feel any more _reconciled _with her than he had before. He'd maybe scored an invite to his mum's birthday, but they were hardly going to be having Sunday lunch as one big happy family. Those sorts of rituals involved an implicit approval of each other's lives, and a desire to know more, and Syed had no more desire to hide his life away, even for a few hours a week, than his parents had to endorse wholeheartedly the way he was living. Plus, those sorts of things tended to involve everyone that mattered to the core family. There was no _way_ Christian was going to be invited around again anytime soon, and, anyway, Syed didn't particularly crave spending his Sunday afternoons sat awkwardly making sure he wasn't too far inside Christian's personal space. All the same, _something _had happened, there'd been a shift in his relationship with his mother that was as undeniable as it was difficult to explain.

"What?" Christian asked, encouragingly. Syed couldn't help but think he was being nosy, but he could hardly blame him. Zainab Masood turning up to your door and asking you- her son's boyfriend- for your address was hardly an everyday occurrence.

"Come visiting," he finished, one of those irritating non-answers he'd once been so good at, but a pretty bulletproof one. Christian couldn't really pry much further without risking being called out on being a nosy bastard.

There was a poor attempt at disguising a frustrated sigh at the other end of the line. "Yeah, it was... pretty weird, I don't know."

"What did she say to you, anyway?" Syed asked. "Don't tell me, she exploited your friendship."

"She made a convincing case," Christian replied glibly.

He felt himself gritting his teeth a little. "That's helpful."

"And 'come visiting' is a fountain of eternal knowledge, is it?" Christian retorted.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who could play this game well. He gave in. "Okay, fine, look, I just don't want to talk about it like this."

"Like _what_?" Christian asked, bemused.

"On the _phone_!" he replied. "I _hate _talking to you on the phone. It's so... impersonal."

"Not much longer, though," Christian said, warmly.

"Seriously, though?"

"Seriously. I _do_ miss you, Sy."

"Well, thanks for the reassurance," he said with an eye-roll. "There was me thinking you didn't."

"I didn't mean it like that."

He ran a hand over his face. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm just feeling oversensitive, I guess."

"What's the matter?" Christian asked. "Did your mum offend your delicate sensibilities? 'Cos, seriously, she's practically an expert in the field of offending people. She seems to specialise in offending gay men, and her children. You're at a bit of a crossover, unfortunately."

"Christian... Mum and I... I think we're... better? Or at least different. I think it's a good different- a 'better'- but I'm not sure. I don't know how to explain it, that's why I won't, rather than that I don't want to. It's hard to explain. It was weird. Stuff's the same, but it's different. We talked about stuff we've never touched with a ten-foot pole before. I mean, that's... gotta help, right?"

"Yeah, 'course."

"Christian," Syed said, his voice low. "Why did you really give her our address?"

"Because your mother and I have something in common."

"And what's that?" Syed asked, a little incredulously. Christian admitting that his mother and himself were the same _species _was an accomplishment at this point. "Your charming terminal cases of verbal diarrhoea?"

Christian replied in a 'duh' tone, "The fact that we love you. Like we have anything else in common except you."

"Well, actually, you and my mum are kind of simi..." Syed started, hesitatingly.

"Don't even go _there_, unless you want some disturbing Freudian insight to go with it that'll traumatise you for life," he said, warningly. "Look, what goes on between you and your mum is your business. I'm staying well out of it. Me getting involved in your business with your mum is the relationship equivalent of standing on a landmine, except with a higher chance of fatality. I don't... want her in my life, but you love her, so I'll manage. But I... occasionally know what's best for you better than you do. And I thought your mum coming to see you... there, the house we share, would help."

"That it'd be beneficial?" Syed asked, a smile on his face.

"Yeah, I guess you could put it that way," Christian said, sounding a little confused at the happiness in his voice.

"Thanks," Syed said, knowing it was totally inadequate, but hoping that Christian would hear the sincerity that rang through it.

"I'm not the one who did anything," Christian replied, with a shrug in his tone. "That's all you. Hey, the fact you managed to spend more than ten minutes alone in the woman's company without killing her is an act worthy of applause in itself for me."

"She was being... nice. As nice as Mum gets, anyway."

"Even so. Zainab's nice is not a general standard of nice."

"I'm far more impressed _you_ spent more than ten seconds in her company without reaching for the sharper cutlery," Syed commented, lightly.

"I _do_ have a modicum of self-control, you know," Christian replied, pretending to be insulted.

"No, but really."

"The only person who ever really made me lose that modicum was you."

Syed totally had to pretend part of him didn't melt at that. Christian's ego was already pretty raging already. "Really? I _have _seen you drunk, remember," he managed, impressed at the casual, totally-not-swooning tone he'd achieved.

"I said _person_," Christian pointed out, gruffly.

"So, basically, Jack Daniels and I are on the same level. How... sweet."

"Hey, he's been a big part of my life since I was fourteen. Feel honoured."

"I _do_," Syed said. "Seriously, though, it means a lot to me that you..."

"Stop going on about it," Christian said in a tone that left little room for argument. "If Zainab can do it, I'm sure it's not some big ask of me."

"It was a huge ask of her, too," Syed answered. "Her making the first move doesn't cheapen what you did, you know."

"Betraying your trust by giving out our address?" Christian replied cheerfully.

"As we've already discussed, my disgust at your betrayal about this knows no bounds. But I managed to forgive you."

"Seriously, Sy, it's no big. You both survived and you seem more contented with the whole thing. That's all I want," he said. "I know... I can't be your everything. I shouldn't be, either. Your whole life revolving around one person... never a good or healthy thing. I know you need your family, too. It's important to me that you have everything you could possibly want."

"Christian, I... love my family. The fact that we seem to be getting somewhere after all this time? It makes me feel ridiculously happy. But I don't _need _that. If I did, I would never have left. The only person... the only _thing _I can't live without is you. Don't get me wrong, my family coming around a little... it's... incredible, and I can't believe it's actually happening. But it's, like... it's a _bonus_. I realised that being with you meant being without them, and I was never okay with that, but I accepted that the sacrifice needed making. I never expected to be able to have both in any shape or form, so to be able to maybe get everything I _want_... it's amazing. But I've already got everything I need."

There was a short, stunned silence on the other end. "You're right, talking on the phone is crap. You have _no _idea how much I want to kiss you right now."

"Serves you right for staying behind," Syed told him, knowing he sounded smug but not caring.

"That whole speech was just one big 'nyeh nyeh nyeh, you can't touch me', wasn't it?"

"Yes, Christian, that's exactly what it was," Syed said, flatly. "I didn't mean a word of it. I just said it to wind you up."

"Well, it _worked_," Christian told him, happily. Then, still as happily, but quieter, sweeter, "I love you, Sy."

He still got embarrassed at the quiet adoration threaded throughout those words. He still didn't know what he'd done to deserve this sort of love by this amazing man. The feelings were completely mutual, but he found himself unable to express himself through those three words in the way Christian did. Christian managed to fill every syllable with feeling, with a beautiful sort of sincerity that only the truly good-hearted could truly accomplish. When Syed said _I love you_, it always felt inadequate, like those words could never contain the entirety of what he felt. Christian's ability to portray his emotions so openly, so earnestly, always intimidated him. "Me too," he whispered.

"You love you too?" Christian asked. "I mean, I don't blame you, what with you looking like you do but..."

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, it'd be nice to hear it now and again, though," Christian replied, but, unlike other times the issue had come up, he was light-hearted, teasing.

"Well, come home and I'll say it as often as you like."

"Bribery, Sy, really," Christian said, slowly, with a tone of disapproval. "How morally corrupt of you."

"I just miss you," he said with a sigh. "I hate sleeping on my own now. Also, I've been forced into socialising with my co-workers. I _hate_ my co-workers."

"They're just jealous," Christian cooed mockingly.

If Christian had been there, Syed would have swatted his arm or kicked his shin. As it was, he had to settle for a rather insufficient, "Shove it. Seriously, the only thing that makes them tolerable is when you come to work events and mock them for being so far up their own arses. I've got this thing with them next month, and if you don't come, there's gonna be headlines about a murder-suicide at an estate agent gathering."

"So, basically, you want me back 'cos you want to use me as a pillow and to entertain you by mocking your co-workers?"

"That's about the size of it, yeah."

"I can do that. You're far too pretty for prison."

"Yeah, _that's _why I wouldn't survive two days in prison," he replied, finding himself mid-yawn. "I need to go. I'm knackered."

"You've turned into such a lightweight in my absence. Better not have to train you up again."

"That would be a tragedy, I'm sure."

Christian laughed. Syed felt ridiculous for still finding his happiness contagious hundreds of miles away, the smile spreading across his face. "Night, Sy," Christian said, full of warmth

The phone disconnected, and he stood, alone, once again in their flat, but it was different now. Everything was different. Not in a big, life-changing way, but more like those first few steps on a journey of a thousand miles. It wasn't like his world had been turned on its head, just shifted slightly. It was only few moments later when his face started to hurt that he realised he hadn't stopped smiling.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N: So, basically, I'm slowly going insane from being snowed in. Also, I have an essay to write. Naturally, the result of being housebound is not doing something educationally constructive. _

_Just to note, the flashback in this chapter was actually written in September 2009 (Holy crap am I slow at updating). It was one of the first things I wrote. I've just been waiting for the opportunity to use it. I've altered it a bit over time, but the bulk of it is word-for-word the same as when I wrote it. _

_March 2012 _

Jane had gotten out of her operation last night. Ian had visited during the late visiting hours, and Christian had volunteered to look after the kids in the meantime. She'd been awake last night but still pretty out of it because of the drugs, Ian had said. Ian had driven them back down this morning, but Christian had been standing outside for a few minutes to give the couple a bit of privacy now that Jane was actually fully conscious. After leaving it what he thought was a respectable amount of time, at least respectable when one was waiting desperately, he went into the hospital room and Ian looked up at him gratefully. He excused himself to get some air and Christian couldn't blame him. The bloke looked a good decade older than he had a few weeks ago, unshaven and more unkempt than usual. The smell of antiseptic and that unidentifiable scent that always screamed _hospital _at him were cloying. He often thought if a patient wasn't sick when they checked into a hospital, they would be by the time they checked out. Only a truly sick person could stand these conditions for a more than minimal level of time. It was probably why visiting hours were so limited. Jane smiled weakly at him and waved with her fingers. He sat down in the chair beside her bed and took wrapped his hand around those fingers.

"How're you feeling, babe?" he asked. He needn't have. She looked awful, like she hadn't slept for a week and, in fairness, she probably hadn't prior to the surgery. Her skin had a worrying grey pallor to it and her eyes seemed dull.

"Tired. Exhausted. Weak. _Unbelievably_ sore," she confessed, her voice little more than a weak whisper. He had to strain to hear her and he was right beside her. "I'm trying to keep on a brave face for Ian- have you seen the state of him? I think a strong breeze would give him a nervous breakdown- but it's so hard."

"You don't need to put on a brave face for anyone, babe," he told her. "You're allowed to be as freaked out as possible. No-one'll judge you, even if you ran around the room screaming like a banshee. You don't have to be the strong one all the time, okay?"

"I kind of do, Christian," she replied, light-heartedly. "Have you seen who I'm married to? Now there's a disaster zone waiting to happen without a support network for you."

He had to laugh. "I'll give you that one," he said. "I'd milk it for all it was worth if I were you. 'Fore you know it, you'll be back to pouring coffee and making sandwiches for Walford's finest."

"Don't you ever think about moving up to Walford?" Jane asked, clearly eager to change the subject. "You seem awfully reluctant to leave."

"I'd love to, but Syed... he's happy where we are."

"Without his family?" Jane asked.

He thought of Syed's words the night before and smiled despite himself. It should never have come down to him versus Syed's family, but it had, in the end. Syed making it clear that he only wanted his family's approval, he no longer needed it might have been seemed a subtle change, but Christian knew it was night and day. "Without his family," he confirmed, the gush of savage joy he felt at saying it made him hate himself a little.

"Then shouldn't you be happy, too? I mean, I don't know the full story of the two of you and I don't think I'll ever really get the whole thing, but the fact that Syed's perfectly happy living apart from them? Isn't that a _good_ thing?"

The words came tumbling out of him, almost without his permission, things he'd wanted to say for _years_. "I _am _happy. Of course I am. I've literally never been happier than I have been the past two years. It's... it wasn't like I was unhappy before. A little aimless, I guess, and my life wasn't... it wasn't where I imagined it'd be by the time I was thirty-seven, you know? But it wasn't like I was miserable, exactly. I thought I was pretty much happy. Looking back, though, it's like... I don't even know how I _lived _like that. How that used to be me. I couldn't do it anymore. The thought of losing Syed? It _terrifies_ me, Jane. I... don't know how to live without him, now, and that scares me too. 'Cos maybe one day I'll have to. Maybe there's... maybe we'll split up, or drift apart, or maybe he'll get into a car accident or something, and... the thought of it, any of it... I can't stand thinking about it. I don't know... I don't know who I am without him. And that... is just terrifying. It shouldn't be like that, should it? I've never done this before, I've never... one person hasn't had so much power of me."

Jane gave him a long look. "Christian, if you feel like this, then why are you here instead of there?" she asked.

"To prove something to myself. To prove I can..." he trailed off. "I don't know, function without him. Or something. That I can go some time without seeing him. But it hasn't made any difference. I miss him like mad, I just want to ring him all the time. Whenever I do anything, I turn around, expecting him to be _there_. It's just..."

"Christian, you're an idiot," Jane told him.

"I know," he replied. "Any particular reason for this always-true statement?"

She looked at him like he was not only an idiot, but someone who could barely dress himself. "You and Syed have been each other's _whole worlds _for two years. He left his entire family for you. You've seen each other practically every day for three years. And you're shocked when you miss him when you're apart?"

"You don't get it, Jane. I don't... I don't _miss _him. It's like being without a limb. Except worse. I'm pretty sure I could function better without a limb. You were right, Jane, about the co-dependence thing. It's actually kind of terrifying."

"I was just scared, venting my frustration. I didn't really mean it, and I definitely didn't expect you to take it to heart! You just miss him a _lot_. Christian, it's _normal. _I know you've not felt like this before, and it's... not healthy or sane or even the slightest bit rational, but it's not supposed to be. Love makes you crazy. And you and Syed... everything that's happened for you to be together, for him to choose you above everything... maybe that'll make you the craziest. But you know what else it makes you?"

"The most pathetic?" he chimed in.

"Well, that too. But, no, _happiest_. And if... _this_," she said, gesturing around the hospital room and looking down at her chest, he thought, without even realising she was doing it, "has made me think about anything, it's making the best out of life. 'Cos, guess what, you don't have forever."

"I had a similar realisation of mortality on my fortieth birthday," he replied lightly.

Jane laughed. "It's completely the same thing."

"Mine's worse. Don't tell Sy, but I keep finding _grey hairs_," he confided, with a note of horror. "He'll leave me when he finds out he's with an old man."

"Syed does strike me as the shallow sort. He's certainly not with you for your brains, is he?"

"You cut me deep, sis," he admonished, rubbing away a non-existent tear. "_Deep_."

Jane looked tired and drawn, and she'd lost a lot of weight, but there was a steel of determination in her eyes as she said, "Go back to Syed. Sitting with your invalid sister in a hospital room when you're itching to be home with your boyfriend is definitely not making the best out of life."

"I can't leave you like this," he said, insistently, his tone suddenly serious. "You're my sister."

"And _I _will still be here when you're in Leeds."

"So will Syed after you're better," he replied.

"Yeah, but I don't think it's the same thing. I have _everything_ I need right here. I don't need you to be here. And it was lovely for you to stay with me and look after me and you've been brilliant. But, Christian, you didn't really stay for me, did you? You've said as much. I mean, Yorkshire's not a foreign country. If you'd wanted to see me, you could've. Just hop on a train. You didn't _need _to be here. You were just trying to prove something to yourself that you were never going to prove. No point wasting any more time, is there?"

As he opened his mouth to reply, Ian came back into the room, looking slightly less pallid, but concern was still etched into his features as he leaned over his wife's bed. Without as much as a glance at Christian he went to his wife's bedside. He might have treated her like a servant more often than not, but it was clearer now than it had ever been that he loved Jane. The thought of life without her had really frightened him into appreciating what he had. Christian had never seen him so attentive or loving; he hadn't even realised Ian was capable of it. Christian smiled. "No, you're right, Jane," he said. "You have everything you need."

Jane nodded, understanding. "I'll see you, okay? You're gonna rue the day you said you'd be here whenever I needed you."

"You bet," he replied, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "You just concentrate on getting better, okay?" He turned to Ian, "And you, if her temperature so much as goes up one degree and you don't let me know, I'll hunt you down."

"You going somewhere?"

"Yeah. I'm going home," he said, relishing the weight of the word he'd avoided for so long when it came to Leeds. He'd discovered since he and Syed had gotten together that home wasn't a physical location, but the one place in the world you felt more comfortable than any other. There'd only ever been one thing that made him feel like that. "You take care of her, you got me?"

"You know I will," Ian said, and it sounded like a vow.

He pointed to Ian and then back at his sister. "At your beck and call, he is. Remember that. Take full advantage. As soon as you're better, you'll be run off your feet again."

She beamed at him. "You can count on it."

"Bye."

xxx

Christian said his goodbyes to the kids and Roxy, promising the latter he'd come back when the baby was born. As he packed up the little he had here, he looked around the flat that held so many memories for him. There was a wave of nostalgia, but little else. He felt little compunction about leaving this place behind. For all the amazing things that had happened in these four walls, there were many things he could hardly bear to recall. Maybe Ian was right, maybe this place was cursed. Or maybe it was the whole of Walford. He totally wouldn't be surprised if it had been built on an Indian burial ground or something. When he walked out of the flat, he felt a twinge, but nothing else. This place hadn't been home since the last time he'd left. There was only one thing that could make him feel at home these days.

The train journey seemed to go on for hours. He'd never been a fan of trains. Or long journeys regardless of the method of transportation, really. He was fond of movement, and the constraint forced upon him by them was unsettling. He could tell the woman beside him was getting irritated with all his fidgeting and rooting around in his bag and standing up and sitting back down and shifting in his seat, but was too polite to say anything. For her sake, he tried to sit still, but only lasted about five minutes. He wasn't able to sit still long in the best of circumstances, but when he was itching to get back to Syed, it was impossible. So he had to put up with the woman's passive-aggressive signs and pointed looks and the possibility she was going to kill him when they got off the train. It didn't matter, though, by the time the train reached its destination, he wasn't thinking about the woman or his fidgeting, all he was thinking about was getting back to Syed.

He paid the taxi driver a generous tip, spreading the joy as much as he could, whilst sparing himself the time-consuming activity of having to actually count the money he owed him. As he stared up at the flat complex, the wealth of emotions he felt was an almighty contrast to his almost-apathy at leaving his old flat back in London. He would miss his sister and Roxy and the kids and even, begrudgingly, Ian, but none of that could compensate for the rush of joy he felt at the possibility of seeing Syed again. Seeing the flash of his expressions across his face. The way that even after all this time, there was still a faint blush on his cheeks when Christian complimented him, the way his hair looked when he ran his fingers nervously through it when he was asking a question and expecting the answer to be 'no', how the whiteness of his teeth contrasted with the tanned darkness of his skin. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The keys faltered in the lock a couple of times before he managed to successfully unlock the door.

Syed was sitting on the couch staring at the door, clearly trying to figure out where the noise had been coming from. When he saw Christian, he leapt up off the couch and cleared the living room in three paces. Christian threw his arms around him and held him in a tight embrace. Syed leaned in to kiss him, and Christian eagerly reciprocated, the odd mixture of kissing someone who he'd kissed every day for nearly two years, and the feeling like he hadn't done this in years.

Syed pulled back as the kiss got more urgent, looking at Christian with the most ridiculous grin on his face and Christian found his own face stretching to mirror it. "Is the phone service not working in Walford all of a sudden or something? Am I gonna have random people coming up from Walford for the next three months? Should I expect the entire Beale clan turning up next week without prior warning?"

"No," Christian assured him. "Just me."

"Thank God. All I need," Syed said against his mouth.

"Me too. Except with you, obviously. I definitely need more than me. The last few weeks have more than..."

"Christian?" Syed asked, smoothing his hands down Christian's chest and fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt.

"What?"

"Just stop talking."

Christian chuckled and complied, taking Syed's head between his hands and kissing him, with no intention of stopping this time.

_April 2010 _

The lights were out in the flat, but that didn't necessarily mean he was out. He pressed the buzzer repeatedly. There was no answer. "No, no, no. No. Come on, _come on_."

Finally, finally, there was an answer on the intercom.

"Jane, I'm going. I don't care what you..."

"It's...me," Syed interrupted, quietly.

There was a long pause and Syed opened his mouth to repeat himself, but didn't get the opportunity. "What do you want?" Christian asked, his voice pained, but also strained with a tint of bitterness.

"I... can I come up?" he asked nervously.

Christian's response was a long time coming, but definite when it did, "No."

"Okay, yeah, I can understand that. Could you... I dunno, come down? Or something? I don't know. I want to do this face-to-face."

"Do... what?"

"Or not. Well, not exactly the way I pictured it, but okay," he said. "The thing is... I..."

"Today, please? I've got things to do. Places to go and all that.

"I know you're leaving," Syed blurted out.

"Jane, I'm going to kill her," he muttered to himself.

"It wasn't Jane. Well, it was, in a way. Amira overheard her talking."

"_Amira_?" Christian repeated incredulously.

"Yeah. Amira told me. I... don't know why. She wants me to be happy, or something, I don't know. I don't understand."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, she said that I should be honest with myself and beg you to stay. But I didn't really agree with her."

"Then what are you here for? To torment me some more, because, honestly, Sy? I've had quite enough of that the past nine months."

"No, because I want to come with you."

He was fairly sure he heard the phone being dropped at the other end.

"Are you... did you just...?"

"I would beg you to stay, except I don't particularly want to stay myself and it would upset Mum and Dad if I did. Plus, I need a fresh start. I can't... I don't want to be with you here."

"What...are you saying?" Christian asked, sounding hopeful, but completely terrified.

Syed hesitated. "You know what I'm saying."

"Yeah, but I want to _hear_ it. I'm sick and tired of knowing how you feel without actually hearing it."

He inhaled deeply. "Christian...I _love_ you. I... and I can't... I don't know what I'd do without you in my life. The only thing that got me through all this was knowing you were only five minutes away and I could see you if I wanted to. It wasn't that I _couldn't _see you, it's just I _wouldn't_. Without that, I'd have gone mental, I'd... well, okay, I've already gone fairly mental, I've pretty much been catatonic for weeks. The thing that woke me up from it, this... fog that has been my life since I said I couldn't see you anymore was thought of not _actually_ being able to see you anymore, and, okay, you've been quiet for a really long time. Tell me to piss off if I'm..."

It was then he heard the door open. He didn't think he'd ever smiled so hard in his whole life, as when he saw Christian standing there. Christian was smiling too and he hadn't seen that in such a long time. Syed stood there for a couple of moments, so overwhelmed with feelings that he could never even hope to verbalise. Then he realised what an utter plank he was being and closed the distance between them. Christian wrapped his arms around him, practically crushing him, but he didn't say anything. If there were better ways to die, he'd love to hear them. Christian looked at him and no-one had ever looked at him like that. Syed hadn't realised the eyes could express so much until he met Christian. Christian stared at him like he could see beyond all the masks, beyond all of the lies and deceptions and acting. One of the things that made their relationship so volatile was how much he resented Christian for stripping all the pretence away and not letting him get away with a single thing. Now, he saw it for something else- a person who understood exactly who he was, knew him inside-out and knew exactly what he'd done, had been the victim of so many wrongs at his own hand and loved him regardless. He couldn't let that go.

Christian lifted his hand and cupped his face, stroking his cheek. "You have no idea how much I've missed you."

"I think I have a vague idea."

When Christian leaned down to kiss him, he met him hallway. When Amira had found out, she'd asked how he could have done this to her. And though it would hardly have been an appropriate response, the truth was it was this feeling. When he kissed Christian, it was like everything else ceased to matter. All that mattered was that moment, and he felt himself dissolving. It was ironic, for something he cherished so much for its ability to make him forget himself, that he never felt more like himself than when he was doing this. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed kissing him. It was a gentle kiss, loving with the promise of thousands more.

"Oh, by the way," he whispered, "I love you as well."

"Oh, good," Syed said, chuckling. "I was getting worried."

"I need to... I have a bag. Well, suitcases, actually. To get. I need to... get those."

"Christian," he said. "Somehow, I think I can wait."

"Then we can go. Away from here. Together," Christian said, sounding as deliriously happy at the thought as Syed.

"Sounds good to me," he said laughingly.

"Me too. Pretty much the best thing imaginable," Christian told him. He kissed his forehead briefly before heading back towards the door of his flat. He re-emerged a couple of minutes later, sticking his head around the door. "In my never-ending wisdom, I packed way more than I can carry." You want to help carry my bags?"

"You old romantic you," Syed drawled, following him up the familiar path up the stairs.

"You mock, but you know it is. Me with too many bags to carry, you coming along at the last minute. It's like it's meant to be."

Syed rolled his eyes. "Yes, wow, how deep and meaningful. This is exactly how I pictured this going, me carrying your bags like a packhorse."

"You just lack imagination, Sy."

Syed glanced around the familiar layout of the flat, memories seemed to cover every square inch of the place. "Seriously, Christian, how did you expect to carry all of this stuff?" Syed said, huffing as he hefted one of the bags over his available shoulder. "When I said you were Superman, I was being _metaphorical_."

"It's like I knew," Christian said, smiling broadly. They stood in the quiet and dimness of the flat for a few moments, surveying it. "You're awfully quiet all of a sudden."

"Just a lot of memories here," Syed told him.

"Lot of bad memories here," Christian replied quietly.

"You're right. Fresh start?" Syed said, extending his hand.

"Fresh start."

Christian took his hand, and they walked out of the flat without looking back.

_March 2012 _

They lay in silence for a while as their sweat cooled and their breathing returned to normal. After weeks of being able to do nothing but talk, it was a novelty to just _be _together, not having to say a word, an expression, a gesture, saying all that needed to be said. Christian kissed his shoulder, and Syed turned around to face him.

"So, did you figure anything out? About... you? About us? Like you said you needed to?" Syed asked, disturbing the silence, a note of nervousness in his tone. Christian tried not to laugh at the possibility that Syed had thought that he'd returned home and couldn't keep his hands off him for five seconds because he'd made some sort of negative realisation about their relationship. What did Syed expect, that he just wanted to take full advantage of sex on tap while he still could?

He stroked Syed's face gently, forcing a frown onto his face as he pretended to give the matter deep contemplation, "That sex with you is really, really amazing? Oh, no, I knew that already. Uh. You're unbelievably gorgeous? No, no, wait, I knew that too..." He snapped his fingers. "Oh, I've got it, that no matter what we are, or what other people think... that we're horribly co-dependent or...whatever, it's not going to change anything. Even if I'd made some great revelation that we were actually doing some twisted Freudian psychological shit to do with our parents, what difference would it make?"

"I wouldn't be able to look my parents in the eye again?" Syed suggested.

"I just mean... no matter what I figure out about our relationship, I'm hardly going anywhere. I'm always gonna love you more than I ever thought possible and beyond all that is healthy," he said, taking Syed's hands between his own and caressing the palms. "You're stuck with me for a very, very long time."

"'Til you're fifty? Yeah, that's about your expiry date in my eyes. No worries, it gives us a good..." Syed gave him an appraising look, "year together."

"Har har. You think you're funny. You're really not, Sy."

"I never claimed to be the comedian of the Masood family," Syed replied.

"Good thing as well."

"I've really missed sleeping with you," Syed said, then sighed at how it sounded and the look on Christian's face. "I mean, actually sleeping with you, literally. I've missed the other part too, obviously, but that goes without saying. I've totally been using you as a human electric blanket for the past two years. The heating's been on full blast all the time you've been away. Our electric bill is gonna be through the roof."

"You know, once upon a time," he said, trying for conversational, but falling short several notes, "I couldn't get you to spend a night with me."

Syed swallowed and turned onto his back so he could examine the ceiling and avoid the intensity of Christian's gaze. Christian knew he hated talking about this. That was the point. It wasn't like they could get away from it; it was a permanent mark on their relationship. But it was a mark, not a stain, and it didn't damage their relationship, but it _had_ shaped it and there was no escaping that fact. They'd pretty much always avoided talking about it, even though everything that was happening now was a direct result of what happened then. It was like they thought if they ignored the past, they could change it, make it something other than what it was. Neither of them were proud of the original nature of their relationship and though some of Christian's happiest memories were from that period, it wasn't something he liked to reflect on too closely, and he guessed Syed liked it even less.

"You know how much I wanted to," Syed said eventually.

"I do, now," he replied, quietly. "Not so much then. I thought you couldn't wait to leave once you'd gotten what you needed."

"Why are we talking about this?" Syed asked.

Christian contemplated the reply before it came, "Because we never do."

Syed sighed. "There's a _reason _for that, Christian."

"And what is that? It's not like not talking about it changes what happened."

"Exactly. So, what's the point? We can't change it. It just makes us feel bad, and it doesn't make

"Syed, it's okay," he assured him. "Thinking about this stopped hurting a long time ago. Well, okay, it's not exactly pleasant, still, but it doesn't make me want to rip my own heart out any more.

Syed frowned. "When?"

"'Round about the time you said you wanted to spend all your nights with me," Christian replied, letting a slow grin spread across his face.

"Christian..." he started, but there was a small smile playing on his lips too.

He shook his head, interrupting, "What I'm trying to say is... here, with you, this is the only place I want to be. And I'm negotiable on the 'here'. The only part that's not negotiable on is the you part."

"We're always negotiable on the 'here'."

"We?" Christian asked, surprised.

"I love it here," Syed told him. "But I think I... kind of love you more."

"You do realise this flat has a _real fireplace, _right?" Christian reminded him, by way of stage whisper.

"I took that into consideration," Syed replied with mock-seriousness. "It was definitely touch-and-go there for a while, I have to say, but considering how empty this place seems without you, I think you win."

Christian kissed him gently, and pulled him back so Syed was facing him again. "With all this in mind, I decided we've got to stop living our life as if it's on pause."

Syed looked at him, befuddlement evident in his eyes. "Okay, Christian, please expand on your comment about how our life is like a DVD player."

"I just mean... all of this, we're... I'm... I guess _I'm_ living like I'm waiting for it to resume."

"Resume?" Syed repeated as if he'd never heard the word before.

"I... think, on some level, I've kind of been waiting to go back to Walford. It's why... I refuse to tie myself to a permanent career, why I'm so anti-mortgage, why I've never really made friends with anyone... I just keep..." he trailed off, staring down at Syed's hands as he played with his fingers. "This doesn't feel real, you know? It feels like we're cut off from everything."

"Well, we kind of are," Syed said, uncomprehending. "Deliberately."

"Well, yeah, but it's like..." He paused, frowning in concentration. "It's like being on holiday."

"I'd sense a compliment in there somewhere but I'm guessing it's not."

"It sort of is. I just mean... on holiday, you _love _it while you're there- or, well, you don't, but mostly you do, and in this case, I definitely did- but you know it's temporary. You know you've got to go home in the end. And... I guess I've spent the last two years waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the holiday to end, back to reality."

"This is reality, Christian," he said, glancing out of the window into the grey sky and drizzle, "I'm pretty sure Utopia would have better weather."

"I know it is. I'm not explaining this well. I just..." He stopped to laugh, but not with humour. "I guess some part of me thinks it's too good to be true."

"And, what?" Syed asked, gently. "I'm going to leave?"

"No. _No_. I don't... that's not what I mean. It's like... I never imagined going back to London _alone_. It's just, you being happy with _just_ me? I thought you'd need something else, too. And it wasn't like I minded that... I _wanted _to go back to Walford... but that's why I didn't want to put any ties down here. Because if we got all settled here, and then you decided that it all wasn't enough? Then I think maybe I would have minded."

"Christian," Syed said, "you know how much I love it here. I thought that was part of the problem!"

"I know. I _know_. But things change, you know? People change their minds all the time. The happier you got here, the more content, the more I thought 'some day, it's not going to be enough'."

"You think I'd have uprooted us because I missed my family?"

Christian fiddled with the tag on the quilt, and shrugged, before admitting quietly, "Well, wouldn't you? It's not an accusation, Sy, I swear I'd understand..."

"Christian, they won't ever... they can't ever accept me, really. Not properly. I mean, they've been... I know you won't think so, but... considering what's expected of them in this situation? They've been amazing. They're... really putting a lot of effort forth. More than they ought to, really. But why would I leave a life where my career is going brilliantly, where I can walk down the street with you and not think 'does that woman know my mum? Does she know I'm with you? Is she going to tell Bushra? Is it all going to come out and destroy my family's reputation?' every time I see someone who looks the slightest bit familiar. It's... better for everyone if I just stay here. My family and I can have a relationship, but they can keep up their lie about... me backpacking through Asia with Shabnam or I've gone off to Pakistan to marry someone or whatever pack of lies they've told without me compromising it."

"Sy, is that actually... that all sounds..." He didn't finish, unable to find an adjective that honestly described how he felt about it that was completely free from the possibility of offending Syed.

"It's just how things work," Syed replied, with a shrug, looking sad but resigned. "It just keeps everyone happy. Or at least as happy as everyone can be without my mum becoming an advocate for gay rights or me turning straight."

"I wonder which one is less likely," Christian said, trying to lighten the mood.

"I think they're about equal. Though the fact that I'm with you constantly reminding me of how completely not straight I am might give you the edge."

"I'll buy your mum a Stonewall t-shirt, then," he suggested brightly. "I owe my mother-in-law a couple of birthday presents, right?"

"You know as you said that, a part of my mother just died."

"Bonus!"

"Shut up," Syed replied, ignoring the hand Christian had raised for a high-five. "So, what is all this? I take it you're running down to the estate agents' to secure us a mortgage."

Christian shuddered. "Not quite. I thought I'd start small. Maybe we could get a plant."

"A... plant?" Syed asked.

"You know, one of those ones that lasts ages. Or a hamster!"

Syed frowned at him. "A hamster would prove your commitment to staying here?"

"Yeah, it'd be a right pain in the arse to move with a hamster," Christian told him.

"You could just... leave it behind."

"You get attached to them. That's the point. Making attachments, making _security_, making friends," he said. "Speaking of which, I think we should invite down your admirer."

"What for?"

"Well, we already know she likes you. It's a start on the friendship front. And she seems nice."

"'Nice'," Syed repeated flatly.

"She made you all those lasagnes she happened to have going spare."

"Christian, she thinks me calling you my boyfriend is some kind of joke."

"Then we'll have to show her it isn't, won't we?" Christian replied, kissing along his collarbone.

"You know, when she said she wanted to see more of me, I don't think that's quite what she meant. You just want to see me squirm."

"If I wanted to see you squirm, there're more interesting ways. I'm trying to come up with ideas here. You could invite one of your co-workers round."

"They're kind of... well, they're not exactly... okay, they're twats. You know this. I've talked about this enough times."

"You've got that one who's not twatty," Christian protested. "You know, the one with the nose thing."

"Oh, yeah, I thought he was non-twatty, but as it turns out, he actually is a twat. He has a chip on his shoulder about the nose thing."

"I don't understand it, if your co-workers are such... characters, why do you love your job so much?"

Syed shrugged. "I guess... it's less the job itself than what it represents. Not that there's anything wrong with the job, really. I do enjoy it, but I'm sure there're things I'd enjoy more. But it's the first job I've had where I was happy outside of it. When I was younger, when I was on my own, I used my job to fill this hole. I guess I did that with this one, too, with my family but it was different. Back then, I had nothing. And now... now, well, I've got you."

"Yeah. I'm better than nothing," Christian said, grasping his chest dramatically. "Wow, you know how to flatter, Sy."

Syed punched him in the side. "You know what I mean. This job... it's a side effect of being with you. It's... like objective proof that I made the right choice. Not... not that I needed it. I knew, but it's nice to have... something solid to show people, you know?"

"You mean this job gives you bragging rights?"

"Pretty much. Come on, I've got a well-paying job I enjoy, this lovely flat thanks to said well-paying job and, to top it all off, a _gorgeous _boyfriend. Though I really shouldn't tell you about him, should I? It's just bad form."

"I'll get you for that, too."

"Fair enough," Syed said. "Speaking of making commitments, I think you should pack in temping. Like, straight away. That's a much better idea than inviting randomers over for awkward meals. I've got more than enough money to tide you over 'til you find something you actually want. There's no point in you dragging yourself off to these menial jobs every day when I can look after you. You can't temp forever, it's kind of an oxymoron."

"_You_ just want to take care of me. Be the breadwinner and all manly. Give me my pocket money when I'm a good boy."

"You'd never get it then, would you?"

"True. Sy, I... don't know what I want to do."

"Well..." Syed said, and gestured to his body.

Christian tilted his head, inquisitively. "Sy, I'm flattered, but I'm _not _actually going to turn pro."

"No, you idiot, I meant the personal trainer thing. You used to go on about it sometimes."

Christian eyed him curiously. "I haven't mentioned that in years."

"I did used to actually listen to you when you talked, you know," Syed said, nudging his shoulder.

Christian smiled, touched by Syed's thoughtfulness. "That... I don't know, Sy. You need to train for it, and..."

Syed placed his hand over Christian's mouth to quieten him. "Come on, you'll pass with flying colours. It's the one thing that you could do absolutely brilliantly that isn't in a legal gray place. You _need_ to be doing something you actually want to do. I hate the thought of you flitting from job to job for the rest of your life, minimum wage, no joy. Have you ever actually had a job you really enjoyed?"

"Well," he said, pretending he was giving the matter deep thought, "I was a caterer once, that had some nice fringe benefits."

Syed rolled his eyes. "Christian..."

"I know I need to actually commit to a career here at some stage but..."

"Are you scared? Is Christian Clarke scared?" Syed whispered.

"Don't tell anyone?"

"Your secret's safe with me, promise. Come on, I think you of all people can understand that you need to get over your fears to go after what you really want."

"I'll think about it, okay?" Christian told him.

Syed grinned at him, happiness radiating from every single one of his features and Christian felt his heart fill with affection. "You're not going to regret this."

"I've got a company name in mind and everything," he told him brightly.

"Really? What is it?" Syed asked. When Christian told him, Syed looked at him with absolute horror in his eyes. "No. Just... _no_. Never. You call it that, and I'll personally ensure that you never lift weights again."

"I'd like to see you try," Christian replied, lifting one of Syed's arms to emphasise their slimness.

"I'll take that as a challenge, shall I?" Syed asked.

Christian laughed, heartily and pulled Syed so he was on top of him. "Challenge accepted," he whispered in Syed's ear as he leaned down to kiss him.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N__: This chapter is actually ironic considering where canon's going on the Christian/Syed commitment issue. But, hey, never let it be said I have good timing._

_And I'm starting to wrap this up now. I figure one more chapter and an epilogue after this. I'm hoping to be finished before the New Year, but my family expect me to, like, spend time with them and stuff over Christmas. Unreasonable isn't the word._

_March 2012 _

Syed opened his eyes and soon wished he hadn't. The sunlight seemed to have taken against him and was on a mission to blind him. He wondered why neither of them had bothered to close the curtains at any point, but that was pretty much a rhetorical question. Nearly a month apart, the closure of curtains was hardly paramount. Though the prospect of going blind hampered things somewhat. He groaned and turned away from the source of his pain.

"We need to get out of bed at some point, y'know," Christian leaned over and murmured in his ear. "We'll get... bedsores and stuff."

"You only get bedsores if you lie in bed without moving," Syed replied, opening one eye. "I plan on moving a lot."

"_You_ have a job," Christian said in far too bright a tone for the morning time.

He turned over, but pulled a pillow over his face. "Tell them I'm dead," he said.

"Syed..." Christian sing-songed.

"Make sure you sound upset as well," he said, the sound muffled by the pillow. "If you sound happy, you'll be prime suspect in my murder."

"How _exactly_ do you plan on dying?"

He gave the question grave consideration. "A candlestick to the head in the dining room," he said, decidedly.

Christian pulled the pillow down and was rewarded with a grunt for his efforts. "By Professor Plum?"

Christian had turned over on his side, managing to block the sunlight. "No, clearly one of your many, many ex-boyfriends. One of them must be an unstable stalker. It's just a matter of statistics."

"You're making out like you're the best of a bad lot," Christian teased.

"Well, if I was the best, it must've been a bad lot. Let's see, I can have anyone I give a sideways look at, I know! I'll pick the gay Muslim with the crazy mother and the girlfriend. You are a bit of a nutter."

"What if the gay Muslim was really gorgeous? And sweet? And was the most amazing person I'd ever met?"

Syed pulled away from him, and Christian let out a sound of protest. "I thought you wanted us, or at least me, to get _out_ of bed."

"There's a difference between _want to _and _need to_."

"'Need to' is debatable," he said. "No, actually, I do. I do need to."

"You know, I've changed my mind," Christian said, grabbing Syed's wrist as he started to disentangle himself from the sheets. "You're right. Who needs to work, anyway? I say, let's go live under a bridge. There's some nice bridges around here. I bet we could find a perfectly acceptable mattress in a skip somewhere..."

"Who was it who was saying we needed to press play?" Syed asked accusingly.

Christian frowned, feigning confusion. "When did I say that? I was clearly out of my mind. I meant let's rewind and live in dive hotels."

"As appealing as that sounds..." he said, pulling himself out of Christian's grip and climbing out of bed. "I like here. With its luxuries of secure roofing and hot water."

"Ugh, fine, go work for a living," Christian replied dismissively. "I'll sit around in my underwear watching Jeremy Kyle."

"Ooh, stop tempting me," Syed said,

"Jeremy Kyle turn you on? And you were talking about me having bad taste..."

"All I heard were the words 'my underwear'. Though if you're adding Jeremy Kyle to the mix, I don't know how you expect me to resist."

"I don't want you to resist, though, do I?"

Syed pulled a tie out of the drawer and dangled it in front of himself, looking at it with grave consideration. "Nope, the tie's out of the drawer. The tie is out, and that means I'm going," he said.

"You haven't got any clothes on. And you haven't brushed your teeth, or had a shower..." He sniffed the air in front of Syed, "which, no offence, if you plan on that wacky going-outside plan, you need to."

"No, but I have got a tie, which means I am an employed grown-up. Trousers are used by all and sundry, including the sorts of people who laze around in their flat all day, as are showers and toothpaste. Speaking of lazing around," He pointed to the laptop in the corner. "Get searching."

"But Sy," Christian said, all wide eyes, "there's only one thing I know how to use a computer for..."

Syed rolled his eyes. "Google. 'Personal trainer courses in Leeds'. If you have the capabilities to find porn, you have the capabilities to find the stepping stones to a fulfilling career."

"I'd rather find porn."

"And I would rather stay here with you and feel a sense of superiority over Jeremy Kyle guests, but we can't always get what we want. Someone's got to pay the rent."

"Oh, you're loving the breadwinner thing already," Christian replied.

"I certainly am," he replied, brightly. "And I'm going to keep on loving it 'til you actually find a job that you enjoy."

He saluted. "Yes, sir."

"Anyway, I'll be home around sixish, overtime permitting. I'll ring if I'm going to be late. What I was thinking was that we actually don't have much in the fridge, 'cos I've been too busy to do any food shopping, so you want me to pick something up on my way home?"

"I'm capable of going food shopping, Sy. In our two years together, I'm fairly confident I ventured into the scary world that is Tesco at some stage..."

Syed patted his knee patronisingly. "Just wouldn't want you to strain yourself, would we?"

"Shut it, you're the one who's making me a dosser."

"If you get stuff in, just text me," he said over his shoulder as he headed towards the bathroom. "It's no big thing for me to call in somewhere on my way back from work.

"Nah, I want to make you something. It's been so long since we had a proper meal together. Plus, it's only fair if I'm gonna be dossing about all day."

"Ooh, some of that Christian Clarke hospitality, I look forward to it," he said, smile on his face. "And I'm locking my bathroom door, so don't even bother getting up."

The last thing he heard before he stepped into the shower was a cry of "Spoilsport", and he smiled to himself.

xxx

Bleary-eyed from a day of work that seemed endless, now, with the promise of a return to Christian, not just an empty flat, Syed walked into the flat, into dimness. The only light came from the kitchen and the candles coming from the table at the back of the living room. Music was playing, low, and Syed was almost disappointed that it was the sort of slow romantic music typically associated with this sort of thing, rather than the sort of thing he heard Christian singing in the shower, or as he cooked. He must've missed the live music portion of the cooking event tonight. He closed the door quietly, and watched Christian in the kitchen, moving around with an effortless grace and a cheerful whistling. With a slow smile, and making sure Christian wasn't going to spot him, he walked towards the kitchen, and wrapped his arms around Christian's waist. He jolted, and Syed laughed.

"Shit, Sy, you scared me," Christian said, turning around to face him.

"Good thing I wasn't a burglar, I'd have been away with the telly by now," he commented. "This is so lovely. I officially have the best boyfriend in the world."

"Officially? Was there a contest I missed out on?" he asked as he leaned down to give Syed a kiss.

"Yeah, you won by a clear mile. It was almost like there were no other contestants or something. The judge was incredibly biased, though, it was practically a fix."

"I'd have been even better if you hadn't been early," Christian said, a gentle reprimand in his tone.

"Traffic wasn't as bad as I thought."

He smiled, though his face gave way to concern. "You look knackered, Sy."

"Lack of sleep plus overtime equals bags under eyes. I can only apologise for looking like hell."

"If that's what hell looks like, I look forward to going there."

Syed flushed. "Ugh, when did you turn into such a cheeseball?" he asked, pretending to be disgusted. "I don't remember you being this crap before."

"Absence makes the heart grow naffer," he said. "Like you don't love it really."

"It's better than the constant barrage of abuse I have to endure, I suppose."

Christian was still looking at him as if he had some sort of terrible wasting disease instead of suffering from a mild case of not-enough-sleep. "If you just want to have a nap..."

"You went to all this effort..." Syed said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.

"Don't be so wet," Christian said laughingly. "I can reheat the stuff."

"Nah, I'm good, I'm pretty sure I have the energy to sit down and eat. It never tastes as nice heated through. Though I should point out if I faceplant the food, it's not because I'm not enjoying it," he said.

"So how was work, anyway?" Christian asked as he returned to preparing the food.

"Fine. Actually, the whole being-kept-up-the-whole-night-by-someone-who-will-remain-nameless-and-therefore-blameless worked in my favour, 'cos everyone was all sympathy, though there did seem to be a certain passive-aggressive joy to their 'oh, you look just _awful_'s. But it provided me something of substance if I ever want to skive in the near future, so, you know."

"Kind of defeats the purpose of me making you something, and you look dead on your feet. Go and sit down," he commanded, pointing the ladle he was wielding at the table.

"How did the course hunt go?" Syed said, loud enough for Christian to hear.

"Good, really. I've seen a couple of ones that look good. Not particularly cheap, mind..."

"We have the money," Syed replied automatically.

Christian laughed. "You don't even know how much 'not particularly cheap' is. And after bailing out your parents..."

"...we'll _find _the money," he corrected.

Christian poked his head around the kitchen door. "You're _not_ selling your car."

Syed made a sound of disbelief. "I wasn't even considering that for a second."

"I know how much you love her," Christian said condescendingly. " I'm pretty sure you love her more than me."

"Well, duh," he responded, lightly. "Christian, don't worry, we'll find the money without doing anything dramatic like selling my one true love. Plus, my mum and dad'll be paying us back sooner rather than later, I'm sure, when they can so..."

"Soooo even if we lose the flat and actually do have to live under a bridge, we'll have money at some point, even if the bank has closed the account and declared us fugitives on the run from the law..."

Syed huffed out a laugh. "I think you're being a tad melodramatic. They can't be _that _expensive."

"Nah, they're not, really," Christian replied cheerfully. "I just like the idea of us being fugitives."

"If you're that desperate to play out your fantasies, maybe we can do something really naughty and fiddle our taxes."

"You really are bad to the core, you, Sy, aren't you?" Christian said, placing a kiss onto the top of his head as he ladled the food onto the plates.

"Or we could get into petty thievery. We could steal chocolate from that sweet old couple from the Post Office. Everyone'd be baying for our blood then."

"They certainly would," Christian said. "Can you imagine us being like that?"

"An old married couple?" Syed asked, looking up at Christian. "We practically are anyway, especially you."

"I just mean... how they clearly still love each other and not in the we-don't-have-to-die-alone way and they've been married, what? Fifty years?" Christian said, sitting down opposite him.

"Something like that," he said. "Christian, tragically early deaths excluded, I don't plan on being anything _but _that. Except the owning the post office bit. That would be a bit much like turning into my mother."

Christian shuddered as he took his seat facing Syed. "There's some lovely imagery to rock me to sleep tonight."

Syed considered Christian's face carefully, before taking a deep breath, "You know, I was thinking... don't get that look on your face."

"What look?"

"_That _look. The 'oh shit what's he gone and done now' look."

"I wasn't! _This_," he circled his face with his index finger, "is my 'my boyfriend is endlessly fascinating and I have a desire to know every single thought that crosses his mind' look."

"Wow, they look awfully familiar for being opposite ends of the spectrum," Syed replied in a monotone.

"It's uncanny, isn't it?"

"Must be all that Botox. No, what I was thinking was..." He faltered, not sure how to bring the topic back around, "the 'old married' thing."

"If it's an offensive term, I will write a memo to myself and stop it."

"No! No, not at all, it's fine. Nice, actually. I mean... that we're... at that stage in our relationship where we can say stuff like that. It's nice. What I meant was... I was thinking about what you were saying, about moving forward and... committing, making ties..."

"Yeah?" he asked around mouthfuls of food. "Ooh, do you want to buy a hamster after all?"

"Not quite. Christian, don't you... have you never thought..."

"What?"

"About us being _literally _old marrieds," he replied, and then wanted to kick himself for managing to find the worst possible way of bringing up the possibility marriage _ever_. He looked down at his food as if it was fascinating, though he'd suddenly lost all interest in eating.

When he managed to drag his eyes away from his plate and look Christian in the eye again, he found a look that he could describe only as horror on his face. Syed felt his stomach drop as Christian started to ask, note of panic in his voice, "Is this is a..."

"No! No. It's not. Though, going off your expression, the following words were going to be 'murder attempt'..."

"I was actually gonna say 'proposal'," Christian replied, the word 'proposal' considerably quieter than the rest of the sentence.

"It's not a proposal. It's a..." he made a vague hand gesture while he searched for a neutral word that wouldn't make Christian's face contort any further if such a thing was possible, "suggestion. You saying you've never thought about it?"

"No!" he said, with as much as a second's pause. Then apparently seeing a hurt expression on Syed's face, he softened his tone, as well as his expression, though Syed knew him well enough to know that it was just a mask to protect his feelings and the fear was just beneath the surface. "Honestly, Sy, it's never crossed my mind! I'm happy with what we have. Are you not?"

"Yeah, I'm miserable. 'Bout to slash my wrists, me. Pass me the meat knife."

"I never occurred to me that you'd even _want _to," Christian told him. He gave him a long look, before asking quietly. "_Do_ you want to?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. I don't _not _want to."

"_What_? I've missed the way you speak in tongues."

"I'm..." Syed started, looking down at his too-full plate as he continued, "not as opposed to it as you seem to be, clearly."

"I'm not... opposed to it, I just... I don't know, I never _imagined _it for us. I mean, it's hardly like your mum and dad're gonna be there, teary-eyed with joy, for example. Or mine, actually..."

"Right, 'cos I'd be doing this for Mum and Dad's approval," Syed said, sharply. "This is what they always wanted for me."

"Syed, you said you'd been thinking, for how long?" Christian asked, in a tone Syed didn't think he particularly liked. It sounded as if Christian expected a bunch of people to burst out yelling 'surprise' as they manhandled him into a car with 'Just Married' written in shaving foam and tin cans attached to the licence plate.

He pushed his food around his plate. "A little while, I guess."

"How long's a little while?"

"A couple of months?" Syed replied uncertainly, shrugging, "I don't know. Before we went back to Walford, anyway. I just... we've been together, properly, for going on two years, most couples would probably be _thinking_ about it."

"I wasn't aware we were on a timetable..." Christian replied.

"No! Of course not. Okay, fine, clearly, this was a bad idea, bringing this up," he said, considering complimenting the food as an alternative, though he'd barely touched it. He wondered if saying it looked or smelled wonderful was a compliment or an insult if you hadn't actually touched it.

"If this is something that you want, or at least something you want to talk about, then of course you should bring it up!"

"I don't know. I just... thought it was a nice option, you know?"

"I guess," Christian replied dispassionately. "Ooh, we could elope to Vegas."

Glad of the semi-change of subject and how Christian's face brightened at the prospect of talking about it from a non-serious perspective, Syed played along. "They don't have same-sex marriage in Nevada," he commented off-handedly.

Christian looked at him, head tilted, eyes narrowed in curiosity. "How do you even know these things?" Christian asked, his tone light, but with an edge to it.

"They have partnerships," Syed said, ignoring the question. "Do dodgy officiators in casinos do partnerships?"

"I imagine they do anything for a quick buck," he said dismissively. "Seriously, how do you know?"

"Work's boring sometimes," Syed said with a shrug, avoiding eye contact.

"So, in your boredom, you search for the current legal status of same-sex marriage in Nevada?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "It's funny the things you end up on."

"Yeah, but you must have put _something _in," Christian pointed out. "'Gay marriage in Vegas'? Bet that got some dodgy results back."

"I didn't... type anything, it's just something I stumbled upon when I was avoiding my co-workers during my lunch break..."

"Now, I don't know much about computers, Sy, but I'm pretty sure that's not the sort of thing you stumble upon without searching around that topic. You've been doing _research_, Sy. That suggests at least a mild amount of investment in the idea."

"It's not like I was choosing the tablecloths for the reception! I hardly imagined us eloping to _Vegas, _as lovely a prospect as that is."

Christian looked at him for a moment, his expression unusually difficult to interpret. It was unnerving; Christian was normally an open book to him. "Look, the thought of standing in front of people and telling the world how we feel about each other, it hardly fills me with horror. But I don't think it's a requirement."

"I don't either," Syed said. "I'm just kind of surprised by how much it doesn't scare me, talking about the possibility."

"The thing is, Sy, compared to everything you've already done for me, it's kind of nothing, to me, anyway. I think you've already proven your commitment to me beyond all doubt," Christian said. "Is that what this is about?"

Apparently, some part of this conversation had occurred while Syed was absent, because he had absolutely no idea what Christian was on about. "What... what's about?"

"Me _proving _to you I'm committed to you?"

Syed looked at him, dumbstruck for a moment. "No! Where would you even get that idea from?"

"I know I haven't had to sacrifice what you have to be with you, but it doesn't mean I'm any less committed..."

Syed wondered if he was even part of this conversation anymore, Christian just seemed to be ranting away to himself. "I never said that..."

"You made this big gesture... you gave up everything for me. And I love you so much for doing that, you have no idea. And, yeah, I didn't have to do that for you. That doesn't mean I _wouldn't_."

"I know all that. Christian, where is all this...?"

"Because I would. If you needed me to. If that's what it took. I'd give up everything you had to give up."

"Christian..." Syed tried, though he knew Christian well enough to know that when he was this worked up, it was pointless trying to get through to him.

"But if you need me to _prove _to you that I love you as much as you love me, well, then..."

"I don't! I never even... I thought it'd be _nice_. I didn't realise it was some huge Freudian insight into my mind!"

Finally, Christian actually turned to him and addressed him directly. "It's not. I was just wondering about why you were suddenly so eager about it, when you've never so much as mentioned it before."

"I'm not _eager_," Syed protested. "I just... kind of like the idea, I don't know."

"What is this? Some sort of 'trying to put the square peg in the round hole' situation?"

"_What_?" he cried incredulously. "You're not even making _sense _now."

"I just mean, your whole life you've had it drilled into you _marriage, wife, kids_, yeah? I mean, it's gotta be pretty hard to get those ideals shaken loose. And with seeing your parents after so long... You can take the boy out of the Muslim household but..."

"Yes. This is exactly what this is," Syed said, throwing his fork against his plate in frustration. "I want you to be Mrs. Masood and bear me a dozen children. You do have awfully child-bearing hips."

"Stop being dense. You know exactly what I mean."

"No, Christian, I _really_ don't," he insisted.

"If you're trying to make us as close to the ideal as we can get..."

"No! No, I'm not! Last time I checked, a civil partnership with a bloke called _Christian _isn't exactly the Muslim ideal!" Syed said. "I don't see this like that at all, Christian. Whatever the hell it is you're trying to imply, it would be about you and me, and about how much we care about each other."

"But it wouldn't be, would it? It would just about you trying to _legitimise_ us..."

Syed threw his hands up in the air, finding the idea so ridiculous that he couldn't form a coherent response.

"It's just funny how you see your parents and suddenly you're all gung-ho about the prospect of state sanctioning," he said. "You know, I need some air."

"Christian, come on, this was nice, don't spoil it..."

Christian ignored him and stalked out, slamming the door as he went. It was typical, two days together, and already one of them was storming out. Syed put his head in his hands. He glanced around, and noted how his perception of the room had changed. Sitting alone, feeling like the slammed door was still echoing through him, the candlelight and music now seemed to mock him. In a huff, he blew out the candles and turned off the music, before realising that sitting in the dark and silence of the flat was doing nothing to appease his mood. He got up and turned the light on, managing to resist the urge to smash something in his utter bemusement and frustration about what exactly had just happened. He wondered how many couples managed to have a huge fight as a result of a conversation that had begun about an old couple that worked in a Post Office. That, at least, was impressive.

xxx

Christian had walked for approximately three minutes before he wondered what the hell he'd stormed out over. He wasn't sure, but he figured when most people had a gorgeous boyfriend who they adored beyond all reason suggested a lifelong commitment, they didn't get pissed-off, insult said boyfriend and then storm off in a huge huff like a stroppy fourteen-year-old boy. But he wasn't making himself look like a total prat as well as an arsehole by having the world's shortest storming out session ever. He looked around, the nice neighbourhood they lived in. The nice neighbourhood they'd moved into together, that they'd _earned_. Well, that Syed had earned, really, if he was being totally honest. He'd spent the past two years so sure that Syed was about to get rapidly and irrepressibly homesick and they'd go right back to where they started, that he'd never really earned much. Not as much as he could have done, at least. He made enough so that they lived comfortably rather than just surviving off Syed's income, but he'd hardly done his fair share of the earning because he'd just been so _scared_. So scared of putting his all in and losing it, of finding a job that he loved and having to leave it behind because Syed changed his mind. And despite what he'd said to Jane, what he'd promised to himself, there was still that lingering fear, after all this time. He hadn't even realised. When he'd told Syed he'd never considered the prospect them getting married, he'd meant it. He hadn't realised that there was still something left to give, something that Syed wanted from him, that maybe he wasn't able to give. He could, and would, do this if it was something Syed really wanted, but he could never _want to _do it, and he was fairly confident that was what Syed wanted. It was the whole point of _them_, doing something because it made them happy, not because they felt a sense of duty.

And he had to ask himself, what was he so scared of now? Syed had reassured him, by word and by deed, that he was never going to leave him, not because of his faith, his family or fear, and Christian believed him. This wasn't about Syed, this was about _him_. Syed couldn't do anything more to assure him of his love, of his certainty that this was what he wanted. It'd been two years and Syed hadn't so much as wavered once. He'd missed his family, been moody and withdrawn sometimes, sure. But ever given any signs that he wanted or needed anything else? Not even a bit. This idea wasn't overcompensation from missing his family, from needing some security that he felt was lacking due to it, maybe Syed just wanted there to be documentation, real, solid proof that they were committed to each other for the rest of their lives. Christian suspected his words had a grain of truth to them, that it was difficult to completely dislodge ideas one had had shoved onto them since childhood. It wasn't that Syed was trying to force their relationship in a heterosexual ideal where it could never fit, it was just, to him, marriage was natural progression from loving someone. It wasn't, so much, for Christian. He didn't see what difference it made. But, then, he thought, if it didn't make any real difference, he wouldn't be out here, alone, because he was scared of it. It must have meant _something _for him to snap like he had.

He sighed, and checked his watch again. Seven minutes, still not enough time to go back to the flat with his tail between his legs. He decided to have a wander up the main street, and a shop caught his eye. He smiled, as an idea struck him.

xxx

"I thought you'd stropped off to the ends of the earth," Syed commented without looking up from the washing-up as Christian re-entered the flat an hour after he'd left. "I was getting ready to call Supernanny."

"I'm sorry, yeah? I overreacted."

"Just a bit," Syed scoffed, scrubbing his hands dry on a tea towel.

"Yeah, I don't know why I... reacted like that. Look, Sy, I love you, and I will do anything it takes to make you happy. If getting a civil partnership is what you want, then..."

Syed looked over his shoulder at him, but didn't move. "What're you fiddling with?"

"Okay, it's kind of naff, but I felt bad."

Syed felt his mood evaporating as he stared down at the two groom figures in Christian's hands. "Don't tell me there are two lonely brides in a cake shop now," Syed said.

"I'm sure they sell proper ones for civil partnerships, but I wouldn't even know where to start looking," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Look, I don't need marriage to be happy, Sy."

Syed exhaled, and walked over to Christian, standing in front of him, but a fair amount of distance away. "I know. That's kind of... why I am not completely opposed to the idea. Like, we don't _need _to do it, to prove anything to anyone, it's just... something that we would do... for us," Syed tried to explain, falteringly.

"Wow, so romantic," Christian said flatly, fighting a grin. "You set the world alight."

"What I'm trying to say is that marriage means nothing without love, right? So I figure, with love, maybe it means a lot."

"What is this?" Christian asked, gesturing between Syed and himself, brow creased.

"It's nothing," he told him. "I'm just saying. I am _proposing _that it's not a totally awful idea."

"Cute."

Syed beamed, and, taking a couple of steps forward, took Christian's hands between his. "I think we need to make some good associations with the whole marriage thing, maybe."

"Yeah, that sounds good. We could do that. Just you and me..."

"And two witnesses..."

Christian lifted his eyebrows. He pulled his hands away from Syed's to cross his arms over his chest. Whether to look as sceptical as possible or as a semi-conscious protective gesture, he wasn't sure. "Seriously?"

"Work is really, _really _boring sometimes," Syed replied, quickly. "If you want to know your rights as a civil partner, I'm your man."

He couldn't help it, the words _civil partner, _even as- especially, he admitted to himself- casually and lightly spoken as that sent a chill up his spine. He wondered if hearing _husband _would be any better, but he half-suspected that would be even worse. "I'm okay, thanks," he said, cursing himself for the quiver in his voice that he was sure Syed would catch.

"How about a YouTube video of a cat sneezing?"

"Suddenly understanding why you need so much overtime," he commented. "So, you're actually suggesting we do this."

Syed didn't answer immediately and had a look on his face like he suspected that there was no good, honest answer he could give to the question. "M-maybe. I mean, it doesn't have to be right away or anything. I'm... just saying, it could be... not totally awful."

"Again, with the romanticism," Christian drawled. "I don't know how I survive you sometimes without _swooning_."

"Honestly? I don't, either. Though you're hardly swoon-free."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"See, with the lack of denial. Actually, swooning is transient, isn't it? Maybe it's not swooning if it's a permanent condition of weak knees."

"Yes, our relationship is one big perma-swoon," Christian drawled.

Syed laughed affectionately, and Christian felt his heart warm. Looking at him, bright-eyed, with a full smile on his face, he wondered what it was, exactly, he found so awful about being committed to him in every way possible. "Perma-swoon. See, you've given the feeling you have around me a nickname and everything. How sweet!"

"Yeah, you _always _make me go weak at the knees. The way you clip your toenails on the couch..."Christian thumped his heart, "gets me _right there_."

"Look, at the end of the day, if you're going to sit on the couch naked, I cannot be held accountable."

"You _can_ be held accountable when you're the reason I'm naked," Christian accused.

"Yeah, you were totally unwilling with the nudity. I overpowered you, as usual."

"I _would've_ been unwilling with the nudity if I knew I was going to become intimately acquainted with your toenails."

"Pfft. You soon forgot."

"That might've been something to do with the naked, pretty guy straddling me."

"Pretty?" Syed said, pretending to be deeply insulted.

"Oh, you thought I was talking about _you_," Christian replied with a note of pity. "Oops. No, see, this was pre-emptive revenge for the thoughtless abuse of couch privileges," he said.

"How psychic of you," Syed commented dryly.

"Yeah, that's me. I _know_ you."

"So this guy. What was he like?"

"Like I said, pretty. Actually kind of ridiculously pretty. A bit skinny for my tastes, though. And, man, 'needy' isn't the _word_. Seriously, nothing was enough for him. More, more, more, more."

"Ooh, he doesn't sound like much of a threat," Syed said. "I'll cancel the fisticuffs."

"Really?" Christian moaned, pouting. "I wanted to see you fighting for my honour."

"Awww. Maybe someday."

"So, hey, I was thinking. I've never had "Making Official Commitments Isn't As Horrifying As Previously Suspected" sex before. I bet it's good." It was really "Take Syed's Mind Off the Whole Marriage Thing Because He Really Didn't Want to Talk About It" sex, but there was no need for Syed to know that.

"Hmm, I've heard it is," Syed said moving closer.

"We should... test that theory, huh?"

"I think it's only right and fair to sex that we try every sort of sex for comparison purposes."

xxx

"Huh. That _was_ good," Syed announced

Christian leaned over to kiss him. "You sound surprised."

"I'm not. It always is. Well, obviously, except that time where you shou-"

"How is that 'and let us never speak of it again', Sy?" Christian interrupted.

"Sorry," he said, sounding not the least bit contrite.

Christian studied Syed's face. "What are you thinking?"

Syed quirked an eyebrow. "Not a lot."

He smirked. "You're flattering me. You had a thoughty look on your face."

"Is it that uncommon?" Syed asked.

"After sex with me? Kind of, yeah."

Syed tried to look exasperated, but his expression was more amused than anything. "Nice to see you've got managed to get that ego under control in our time apart."

"Not bragging if it's true," Christian claimed.

"Actually, it's even _more _bragging if it's true," Syed told him. "It's not really bragging if it's lying. It's just making stuff up."

"Well, you know me, I've always been a firm supporter of honesty. No point in lying for modesty's sake. So?"

Syed frowned. "So... what?"

"What was it you were thinking about?"

"That... I'm going to be doing this every day for the rest of my life."

"Well, I know you're keen but 'every day'..." Christian said mockingly.

"No, I mean, _being _with you," he clarified. "And I was thinking... making it official, well, maybe that's a nice thought."

"I wouldn't go that far... I'm kind of still at 'not completely awful'."

"Come on. It's, like, the final frontier. I'm yours _here_-" Heart. "_Here_." Head. "...here." Crotch. "Emotionally, mentally, physically... legally just completes the set, right?"

All of his post-coital bliss ebbed away from him, and he felt all of his doubts and fears return to the forefront. "I guess..."

"You're telling me the fact that I'd stand up in front of people and tell them how I feel about you is totally unappealing?"

"Sy, the fact that you'd be willing and happy to do it? Means far more than you actually doing it. I don't need public affirmation anymore. I only needed it when you weren't willing to give it."

"So basically you only wanted it when you couldn't have it? How primary school of you," Syed said, curtly.

"No. You don't get it," Christian replied calmly, stroking Syed's hair. "What I wanted was for you to be comfortable enough about being with me to be able to do this sort of thing. And now you so clearly are... I don't need you to show it."

"I...okay?" Syed looked up at him, confusion clouding his eyes. "So now I _can _do it, you don't want me to?"

He shook his head. "I don't _need_ you to. I certainly don't ask it of you. Because, now, you just... do it."

Syed sighed, his expression of exasperation looking far more genuine this time. "I kind of can't do this particular thing without you."

"Sy. Come on. Why're you suddenly so gung-ho about this? I mean, I know you brought this up, but you weren't exactly setting the word alight with your passion for the idea of it."

"Because... I don't see why not," he replied, softly.

"I could have sex with my socks on. Why not. But I don't."

Syed stared at him disbelievingly. "I cannot believe you just compared a lifelong commitment to shagging with your socks on."

"They're both about as sexy as each other," Christian muttered.

"Come on. As if you're going to become an old man as soon as you sign the registry."

"Yes. I'll pick the pen up with normal, and rather attractive if I do say so myself, man hands, and put it down with old man crippled arthritis fingers."

Syed swatted him. "You're just being stupid now."

"Sorry if 'civil partnership' doesn't fill me with sexy thoughts. Have you ever heard a less sexy phrase?"

"Yeah, 'sexy thoughts'. Homer Simpson associations, _so_ sexy."

"What I'm saying is, the fact that you're here with me, that's all I need. That's all I ever needed. I don't need some slip of paper to remind me that I love you and I'm going to be with you for the rest of my life. I don't need anything else."

"Yeah," Syed relented, but he sounded disappointed. "Okay, then."

"Really?" Christian asked, feeling a stab of guilt at causing that tone of voice in his boyfriend.

"Yeah," he answered, a bit more genuinely this time. "I mean, it's not like I'm desperate to do it or anything, and if you're really this opposed to it, then it's fine. I wouldn't want you to do anything you don't want to do. Like you said before, it's not like we can get any more committed."

"I dunno," Christian said, trying to keep his tone light, pulling Syed closer to him. "I think we could get sewn together."

"Christian, you know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, but I never need to be by your side when you go to the toilet."

Christian scoffed. "What sort of boyfriend are you?"

"I think you find the sewn-together idea more appealing than marriage," Syed said.

"It's probably less stress."

"Yeah, it'd be a _huge _amount of stress, the sort of production I'd want. Elephants, Hummers and doves that spread out in the shape of hearts..."

"Would you have three elephants with those blanket things over them, each one with a different word of 'I Love You'?"

"You know me so well..." Syed said.

"You can't picture us in some dumpy little registry office, either, though, surely?" Christian asked.

Syed shrugged. "All of the trappings don't matter in the end, do they? Boils down to the same thing."

He sighed, scanning his eyes over Syed's face. "I'll think about it, yeah?"

"No, you won't," Syed said, certainty to his tone. "It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, it's not like it makes any difference, does it?"

"Nah. 'Course not," Syed replied, his lying as convincing as ever.

Still feeling bad, "Sy, I love you."

"I know you do. Which is why I can forgive you for being a stroppy wimp."

"Okay, stroppy, I'll grant you, but wimp?"

Syed sat up, turning around to face Christian cross-legged. "Like this isn't your inner commitment-phobe screaming 'don't let him trap you'."

Christian turned onto his side, using his elbow to prop him up. "I think you've already got me 'trapped', Sy. I'm not going anywhere."

"But this is properly trapped. This would be paperwork, lawyers, stress, to get out of. You couldn't just walk away if you had to."

Christian grimaced. "I'm not planning on walking anywhere."

"I didn't say it was logical, did I?"

"Well, yeah, but you did imply by saying it that it made _some _kind of sense..."

"Well, as we are, we're solid, together, y'know. We're sure we're going to be together forever. _But _if things turn pear-shaped, you can just... walk away. Easy," Syed said. "What we are now, it's everything you want without all the fuss if you need to leave."

"I couldn't leave if I wanted to, Sy," Christian assured him.

"I know," Syed said, and Christian felt his heart lighten at the way Syed said it, as if Christian had just told him the sky was blue. "But I'm guessing the part of your mind that's against this is the same part of your mind that's still imagining this is going to go tits-up."

"Why are you still trying to convince me about the marriage thing? You _just _said it didn't matter."

"It doesn't. But the fact that there's still a part of you that can't totally one-hundred percent commit because you're scared? That_ does_ matter. This isn't about the marriage thing, this is about how you reacted. If you were completely secure about this whole thing and this was about you not wanting to get married just 'cos you didn't fancy it, you would've just gone 'thanks but no thanks'. You'd not have gone off in a huff," Syed said. "What do you want me to do?"

"It's not you, though, is it, Sy? God, what else _can _you do? You left _everything _for me, everyone who mattered, and I'm still being a prat."

"You are a prat, I'll grant you that," Syed replied. "I just think you're underestimating yourself."

"Underestimating myself? Sy, I don't think that's one of my problems. I think I have the _opposite _problem."

"Okay," he said, lying back down beside Christian, "I'm gonna take a wild shot in the dark here, given how little I know you. Tell me when I'm getting warm, yeah?" he asked, and Christian rolled his eyes before nodding. "You are positive that at some point you're going to screw up so badly that I'm going to leave. Or that I'm going to get bored of you, trade you in for a younger model."

"Thanks, Sy," Christian said petulantly.

Syed grinned, knowingly. "Sound about right?"

"It... might... not be totally inaccurate," he admitted.

"Christian, I swear on my life, I could never get bored of you. One time I actually watched you sleep for about four hours like a huge creepy stalker. You could take up bowls and stamp collecting and I'd still sit there rapt as you talk about... what actually happens in bowls, anyway?"

"I'm not actually sure..."

"See, not an old man yet," Syed reassured him. "And the screwing-up thing? Look, Christian, I have faith in you. There is no way you'd ever do anything that would be bad enough to make me want to leave. I _know_ that. I believe in you, clearly more than you believe in yourself. I'm going nowhere."

"Remind me, at what stage in our relationship did you become the sane, level-headed one?" Christian asked, moving forward so their foreheads were touching.

"You imply that you were ever the sane, level-headed one."

"Relatively speaking..." Christian said.

" It's not about being reasonable, I just trust you, Christian. And I know after everything, this is... this is how things are going to be for the rest of our lives."

"I'm such an idiot," Christian said, groaning at himself.

"Yeah, you are," Syed replied with a smile. "It's a good thing I'm kind of attracted to you when you're being a stroppy wimp."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," Syed said with mock gravity. "Christian, I don't care if we're married or not. I don't care if you're in Walford and I'm here. There is exactly one thing I care about here, and that's you."

"Don't let the car hear you say that," Christian said. "Syed, are you sure about this whole thing?"

Syed nodded. "All I want is you to be happy."

"And I am, just as we are. I don't want anything to change."

"Yeah," Syed replied, beaming. "I'm sure I'll learn to live with it."

Christian felt Syed's yawn against his chest. "Sorry about having a huge huff when you were knackered."

"Yeah, it was awfully inconsiderate of you," Syed said. "Damn you for having feelings and stuff when I'm tired."

Christian played with Syed's hair loosely until he felt Syed relax completely against him. He wasn't tired at all, but he didn't want to disturb Syed, whose expression looked so peaceful after an evening of being creased with frowns, so he watched him sleep, as if it wasn't something he'd seen hundreds of times before. Given how their relationship had begun, he could never take any normal relationship stuff for granted. Seeing Syed so at peace, so comfortable, it was always amazing to him, and always would be. Watching him sleep was something the old him would mock him for being pathetic and about as interesting as watching paint dry. But the old him had never been in love, not really, and the brief brush he'd had with what he had thought was love was something he associated with nothing but hurt and pain. Love, true love, the kind he had with Syed, it was worth every bit of hurt and anger and confusion, because _he _was worth it. Everything they had, right now, would make him happy for the rest of his life. He just didn't want to change it. He was being ridiculous, he knew, but everything was _so _perfect, he worried about the slightest change, even as little as a signature on paper, and, despite the best of intentions, changing things for the _worse_. It was verging on superstition, but he was very much on the side of 'if it ain't broke, don't fix it'. He sighed, deciding to just think about it later, and concentrate on the much more pleasant reality of Syed sleeping soundly in his arms, and knowing he would be perfectly happy if things were exactly like this for the rest of his life.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: _I am so, so sorry for the delay. Longest Christmas break ever. I just suck, basically. But, hey, it's still the weekend with 5 hours to spare, so I'm not a total failure of epic proportions, I guess. I really wanted to write flashbacks in this one but they just weren't working _at all, _which is the main reason for the delay. It works better without, I think... I hope.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

_March 2012 _

Christian slumped outside the door, exhausted. He was preparing himself to put on his game face for Syed, not willing to let him see the toll the course was taking on him. He knew it was in the ultimate good and he didn't want Syed worrying about him. The physical stuff was okay, though it was becoming increasingly apparent that he wasn't quite as in shape as he'd led himself to believe. It was more the mental side of it that got to him. He'd never been good at exams, the few he'd actually bothered turning up to when he'd been at school, anyway, and he really didn't see what being able to name all the muscles in the body had to do with shouting at someone to run faster. Sometimes the thought of being able to come home to Syed was all that got him through the day. He realised he was mostly just scare of failure. The thought of throwing in the towel was far more appealing than the thought of having this dream taken away from him. He'd wanted to do this for _so long _and when he'd been doing his odd jobs, he'd always had that 'what if' to get him through the day, that it was only temporary to support Syed's wage, and he'd move past it. The thought of being stuck in those monotonous odd jobs for the rest of his life without the hope of that dream to buoy him was _terrifying_. He didn't have any qualifications or marketable skills and he was pretty sure his last permanent job's co-owners wouldn't be scrambling over themselves to give him a good reference. He knew that Syed didn't mind supporting him, he even suspected he rather enjoyed being the main breadwinner, but he didn't want to be sat in ten years, silently resenting Syed for being successful in a job he enjoyed, while he worked in a series of dead-end jobs because he was too much of a bloody coward to take a chance. Looking at Syed was inspiration enough. He'd taken the biggest leap of faith it was possible to take, given up everything it was possible to give up because he had faith in _him_. It made him feel utterly pathetic for considering giving up on something he'd wanted for years because he was a bit scared. After everything Syed had done for him, this was small fry. The thought of letting Syed down urged him on more than anything else. He couldn't imagine coming home and telling Syed that he'd decided to give up because it was too hard. Syed believed in him, and that gave him the strength to do anything, never mind a stupid course that he was ideally suited for. Wondering for a moment what was worse: swallowing his pride and admitting that this wasn't the easy ride that they'd both expected it to be and having Syed make him feel better like only he could or having to pretend it was going well so Syed wouldn't be burdened with his petty problems. Practising a bright smile, he sighed and walked in the door.

"Good day?" Syed asked, as he reached up to receive Christian's kiss.

He smiled and avoided the question, "It is now," he said, and that, at least, was the truth.

"Ugh, Christian, you stink," he said, as Christian sat beside him and enveloped him in his arms. "Are you not going to get a shower first?"

"Love you too," he said. "I will, in a bit."

"You do realise you're making me all minging as well," Syed said, though Christian noted with his annoyance sounded put-on and he had made no move to resist Christian's embrace.

"That's sort of the point," he replied, grinning and Syed rolled his eyes. He looked up at the screen. "Seriously, Syed, _Deal or No Deal_? Did you age forty years while I was away?"

"It's actually great. You'll see."

Ten minutes in, and not only did Christian not 'see', he was contemplating suicide, or possibly homicide. He wasn't sure if he could stand being with someone who had such horrible taste and could so heartlessly inflict it on him. Sure, Syed could inflict heartbreak and rejection and confusion on him, he'd welcome him back with open arms, but Noel Edmonds? That was _beyond _cruel. He looked sideways and Syed was watching it, rapt. The adverts kicked in and Christian didn't think he'd been so glad to see the _Go Compare _advert in his entire life.

"Okay, that's it," Syed burst out suddenly, reaching for the remote

Christian jolted at the loud voice by his ear, after several minutes of the only noise in the room coming from the ridiculously overinvested contestants. "Christ, Sy. _What_?" he asked, rubbing his ear.

"You!" he said, jabbing a finger into his chest as if Christian wasn't aware of who '_you_' was. "Normally, if I put something on like that, which clearly makes you want to stab things in your eyes, or mine, you sit pouting, complaining and/or mocking perfectly nice people for physical imperfections beyond their control."

"You were enjoying it!" Christian said. "I didn't want to ruin it."

"Exactly! Normally you don't care."

Christian looked at him sideways. "Are you telling me off... for being more considerate?"

"No! I'm telling you off for being 'oh, don't get out of bed, Sy, I'll bring your coffee to you' and 'oh, yeah, Sy, don't you worry, my day was totally brilliant even though I look like hell' and, now, 'oh, Sy, don't worry, I'll just sit here and slowly die of boredom'. "

"That's what I mean about 'being considerate'." He frowned, offended. "Also, I don't sound like Leslie Ash after the surgery."

"Yeah, it'd be lovely if you were actually doing these things out of consideration, Christian. But you're just overcompensating for... _something_."

Christian's eyes narrowed. "What's _something_?"

"I don't know- best guess, guilt?" Syed suggested quietly, not quite able to look him in the eye.

"What have I got to feel guilty for?" Christian asked, his eyes narrowed.

"I don't know!" Syed exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "That's the thing, I have no idea, and it's driving me mad. You've been so weird lately and I couldn't figure it out. Basically, you're either carrying on with someone else, which I highly doubt given that I can barely go to the toilet without you... hovering. _Or _you feel bad about the whole marriage thing. I'm going to take an educated guess and go for door number two."

"I _don't_! You said you were fine, and I know you meant it, so I've got nothing to feel guilty for. I'm fine," he said. "I'll let you make your own coffee on a morning and make you watch reality shows until your eyes bleed, if that's what you want."

"Oh, you say _just _the right things. It's not about that, Christian, it's about _why_. I mean, I _don't _care, so you really have no reason to be guilty and you know that, so..."

"I'm sorry if I'm hovering, being too nice, whatever's setting off your overcompensation detectors, Sy, I just missed you when I was away is all.

"Yeah, I understand that," Syed said, pointedly and Christian felt a stab of genuine guilt.

Christian looked carefully at Syed's expression, but managed to avoid his watchful gaze. "You know I'm sorry for leaving you up here on your own because I let Jane get to me when she was upset, right?"

"Christian? Seriously, is that all you feel guilty for? If it is, no harm, no foul, seriously. I missed you, too, but it' not like it was the end of the world. It just felt like it a bit," he said, with a full smile

"Yeah, that's totally what I feel bad for," he said, hoping he sounded convincing, but knowing he didn't. Not to Syed, anyway.

"Well, don't, there's no need," Syed said, settling back down into his embrace.

"Fine, I don't. I am absolved of my guilt," he said, spreading his hands in front of him. "Okay, can we watch something else now? Noel Edmonds' shirts hurt my eyes. And my soul."

Syed gave him a long, suspicious look before shaking his head and shrugging. "I quite like them," he said, too casually, but Christian chose to pretend that he was in the clear.

"Yeah, well, you would," he replied, kissing the crown of Syed's head and trying not to let his feelings of unease show.

* * *

Already running late, Syed had been halfway out the door before he realised he'd forgotten documents that were worth more to his company than his life, and was searching wildly through the drawers and cupboards, which were all a victim of Christian Clarke's special brand of organisation. Two years of living with Christian had given Syed exactly no insight whatsoever into his way of organising things. He'd long suspected that there _was _no system and Christian was just making it up as he went along, but if he asked him where anything was, Christian would know immediately. The system was just too complicated for normal human brains. Christian had tried to explain it to him one time, but it went right over his head. Apparently, alphabetical wasn't quite organised enough for Christian's particular brand of OCD, so Syed was completely lost in a sea of 'Christian logic'. Christian having some insane system worked when Christian was _here_ and could translate his crazy into usefulness. Otherwise, Syed spent several minutes rifling through drawers wondering what the hell the connection was between this month's electricity bill and a postcard they'd gotten from an old mate of Christian's. His hands fumbled over random papers he'd forgotten they'd had, and let out a small sound of jubilation when he finally found the papers he'd been looking for. As he removed the papers with a relieved smile on his face, a word on the leaflet beneath catching his eye and he took it out, completely confused. It read: _Your Guide to a Good Mortgage_.

* * *

Syed heard the lock go in the door and stood up. He'd been going through his discovery in his mind at work all day. He thought of the possibility that it had just been junk mail, but, then, he wondered why Christian would've kept it unless he was interested. It was just the discovery of it, shoved furtively between bills and documents, combined with Christian's uncharacteristic over-eagerness to please recently that had raised his suspicions.

"Christian, what the hell is this?" Syed asked, shoving the leaflet toward him unceremoniously.

"Hello to you, too," Christian said, with facetious brightness. "Yes, the course was great, thanks for asking."

"_Christian_. Why have you got a leaflet about mortgages?"

He shrugged. "I was curious," he said, not quite meeting Syed's eye.

"Yeah?" Syed asked, folding his arms over his chest. "Just curious, right?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Then why do 'we'," he said, with exaggerated air quotes, "have an appointment with the bank next week?"

Syed produced the letter with a flourish, and Christian blanched. "How did you find _that_?"

His eyes wide with innocence, he replied, "I guess when I'm apparently tying myself for life to a flat without knowing about it, I can figure out your system!"

"You weren't supposed to see that yet. I was _going_ to tell you, I swear, I just..."

"Oh, well, let's just forget about it then," Syed retorted. "I'll ignore it 'til 'we've' bought a mansion in Florida, shall I?"

Christian sighed. "This is just prelim stuff, Sy, it's not like I signed a document in your blood, is it?"

"Yeah, only 'cos you couldn't get the needle in," he replied, accusingly. Syed exhaled, rubbing his temples slowly. "Look, this isn't a big deal or anything, I just don't understand why you think this is a good idea."

"You want it, don't you?" Christian replied, as if it was obvious and that was the only reason he needed. The part of Syed that was touched by such a show of care fought temporarily with the part that was annoyed with him for making assumptions about what he wanted on his behalf without consulting him. The touched part won out, as ever, and he hated the soft spot that Christian had in his heart that meant his anger always drained out of him so quickly.

Syed let his eyes explore Christian's face, trying to fathom him out. "Is that what this is?" Syed asked. "I thought I told you the other day..."

"I'm not just doing this to appease you," Christian said, his eyes wide and tone eager, reminding Syed of nothing less than someone trying to sell a product they knew was a bit shit. "It's a _good _idea. Sensible."

He had to laugh, though he tried to suppress it. "Christian? Did you seriously try to convince me to do something because it's 'sensible'?"

"Well, it _is_," Christian replied insistently. "You've always said I needed to be more sensible."

"You're trying to convince me you genuinely want this and aren't only doing it for me because _you_ think it's sensible?"

"I can see how you would think that but..."

"No way. No _way_ do you actually believe this. You forget that I _know _you."

"You don't know everything about me," Christian told him.

"Okay, yeah, I don't know every single thing about you," Syed said, hands raised in an admission of defeat. "Clearly, 'cos I would never have this coming. But I do know you as well as you know me. So I know that you don't really want to do this. And since I'm pretty sure you know you pretty well, you know it too."

"I don't understand why you're being awkward about this. I thought you were all gung-ho about this commitment..." He made a vague, flailing hand gesture, "_thing_."

"Oh, I get it. This is your compensation, isn't it?" he asked, scoffing. "Seriously, though, getting a mortgage is your runner-up prize to what is supposed to be the most romantic prospect on earth is _getting a mortgage_? I would _love_ to know how your brain works sometimes."

"It's about commitment, isn't it?"

Syed let the thought cross his mind about presenting Christian with some sort of award for managing to miss the point so completely it had to have taken some major mental gymnastics. "You know, sometimes I do wonder if you know me at all. Which is worrying, considering you're the person who knows me best in the world."

"When we moved in here, you _said_ you wanted to buy it. I heard it with my own ears and everything. I said I didn't want to, and now I do! I swear to God, Sy, you just move the goal posts when it suits you."

"Yeah, that's exactly it, Christian," Syed replied, flatly. "I live for making you jump through my hoops. I don't even mean any of the things I say, I just randomly throw them out there as tests and see what sticks. _Sometimes_ I even say things several months ago, let them stew and _then _I do something totally crazy, but entirely related in an incredibly subtle way, like, say, bring up the possibility of marriage and then stir. It's incredibly complicated, but, hey, gotta say, the long game's effective."

"Stop being an arse," Christian said, clearly on the defence. "You know exactly what I mean."

"What? That I don't spell out what I want with semaphore flags? That I don't tell you every single thought that's ever crossed my mind? Maybe I could wear t-shirts that express my mood that day to make it easy for you," he said. "God, Christian, what do _you_ want? I tell you what I want, but it's not the same as what you want, so you pretend like I haven't made it perfectly clear what it is I want. Instead of just asking me about this whole flat-buying thing, you just _assume _that you know what I want and go barrelling ahead with it... why didn't you just _say_?"

"That's not it, Sy."

"Then what _is_ it?" he asked, softly.

"Look, I know I was a twat about the whole... thing last week, so I thought this would make it up to you."

"But... nothing's changed, you still don't _want _to."

"I do..." Christian said and Syed wondered if it was possible to sound _less _convincing.

"Ah, music to my ears," Syed said. "You know when you do this sort of thing? Does your brain actually think thoughts? Or is it just some sort of primitive reaction to stimuli? Do you just... go 'round hitting things with clubs trying to fix them?"

"I don't understand how this is so bad. It's a long-term investment. And... I thought you wanted to live here for, you know, a while. Like, long enough that paying rent in the long-term will constitute a loss."

"You know I do. But could you have picked a worse time, literally? We've had enough money to do this for a while, and you choose to bring this up when I've just given a huge loan to my parents... and your course. Why now?"

"Well, because before... I always thought... we'd not be here forever. But I can see it now, us being old here. Well, not _old_ old, 'cos there's no porch. You need a porch when you're old to spy on your neighbours and to have enough room for your wheelchairs. But... up to pre-retirement age, anyway."

Syed felt himself softening despite his best intentions. "You've thought about that?"

"Yeah, 'course," Christian said, his expression flickering with amusement. "I had this _horrifying_ image of me being, like, eighty and in a wheelchair, attached to one of those, you know, oxygen tank things, and you still young and lovely, just waiting for me to die so you can get on with your life and our gardener."

"Or, you know, sixty-eight with liver spots and I'm _pretty_ sure that if I haven't already killed you by that point, I won't be wishing you dead. And I can tell you already, I will _not_ find our gardener attractive."

"The prospect of turning forty when your boyfriend's still in his twenties makes you paranoid," Christian said with a shrug.

"Well, basic maths says no to your paranoia," he said. "Christian, you've got to admit that your timing is... suspect to say the least. You offering to do this exactly when we _can't_? Maybe you've got good intentions, but on some level you knew I was going to say no, _had _to say no, which is the only reason you offered. Make yourself look good, committed, but not actually having to go through with the horror that is being tied down to one place, one person, officially."

"That is such bullshit, Syed," Christian said.

"No, it's not," he said, gently. "Why do you feel this _need_ to prove your commitment to me, Christian? It's not under suspicion. I know you don't find the ties of official commitment appealing and that's _fine_. It really, really is. I _know_ that you think we're going to last as much as I do. You don't need to prove _anything_ to me, ever. But if you ever do feel the need, I think they say you're supposed to say it with flowers, not legal documentation. As sexy as legal documentation is. And, okay, not exactly a big fan of flowers either, before you go down to the garage like the old romantic you are, but you know what I mean."

"I just want you to be happy, Sy. That's _all _I want. I thought this would make you happy, but I was wrong _again_. I'm not scared of being tied down to you or this flat, I just... I honestly, I don't even know what you want."

"Well, I can tell you what I _don't _want- you _making_ _concessions_. What I want you to do is whatever you want to do. Within reason. What I _don't_ want is you walking on eggshells trying to please me," he said. "Christian, I spent my whole life doing that for other people, I don't want you doing it for _me_. It's the last thing I want. It goes against everything that we're supposed to be. Goes against everything I thought we'd be when I left my family. You just going "sure, let's do that" even if the prospect of 'that' makes you want to die, because you feel some sort of guilt because of what I've had to give up isn't what I want."

"Sy..." Christian tried.

Syed reached out, turned his face back towards him. "You _shouldn't_."

"Shouldn't what?"

"Feel guilty. In the end, it... had nothing to do with you."

Christian blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Syed rolled his eyes at himself, silently cursing his inability to express himself well. "I mean, it did. Of course it did. You're the only person I would ever have done..." he trailed off. "What I mean is in the end, it was _my_ choice. The choice process didn't involve you. It was _about_ you, but you didn't even do anything to influence it- not deliberately, anyway. You didn't force me into it and it wasn't your fault that I was in that position. Well, okay, it was but it's not like you made me fall for you."

"It's not guilt, Sy. Well, not overwhelmingly."

"Then what is it?" Syed asked gently.

"You've done so much for us. Given up... _so much_," Christian said. "How can I ever measure up to that?"

"_What_?"

"No matter what I say or what I do, nothing's ever going to match up to that, is it? I mean, I could be the perfect boyfriend- which, let's be honest, not gonna happen anyway- until the day we die, but you're always going to... you're always going to have done that for us."

"You do realise I was _joking _about us being in competition for best boyfriend, right?"

"It's not a competition, I know that. I just... it's not _fair_, is it? Everything you've had to give for us, while I just... I can go see my family whenever I want, no guilt, no fear, no awkwardness, no disappointment..."

"And that's your fault... how, exactly?" Syed asked.

"It's not. I'm not saying that it's rational."

"Well, clearly," he said. "Shall I ring up Jane and tell her to disown you? Would that make you feel better?"

Christian smiled. "No."

"So, what?"

"I was thinking..." He didn't finish his sentence, but Syed saw him- he thought, unconsciously- rubbing his ring finger and got the message.

"Yes, let's get married under a sense of obligation," Syed retorted. "It's _every_ boy's dream."

Christian let out a frustrated puff of breath. "It wouldn't be _like_ that."

"It would be evening the score, then? I do something I wish I never had to do, and so do you. Again, the stuff dreams are made of."

"No, that's not what I meant..." Christian tried, but Syed could tell it sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

"Tell me you actually want this and you're not just doing it so you can feel like you don't _owe me_, and we'll do it."

"I want to do it," Christian replied, his voice toneless. Apparently it _was _possible to sound less convincing. Syed couldn't decide if Christian was being deliberately transparent in order to avoid being made to honour his promise, or if three years' worth of knowledge of Christian's face gave him insider information not apparent to anyone else.

"Yeah, okay. You sound like I asked you to kiss my mother's feet. Ta, Christian, but I think I'll decline your _lovely _offer."

"Sy..."

"Relationships... it's like you said, they aren't all about the big gestures. They'd burn out pretty quickly if they were. You know, you might not have given up anything the way I did, but if you hadn't compromised your morals, given up things you'd believed in your whole life... this relationship would never have happened, and I'd maybe be stuck in an unhappy marriage, and I'd definitely be caught in a miserable lie. So don't tell me you never had to sacrifice anything. You _were _going to lose your family because of me when you were going to leave Walford. So pack it in, yeah? You owe me exactly nothing."

"It's not _fair_, Sy. None of it. You should never have had to choose."

"Life isn't, as a rule," he said. "But you know? As much as I miss them sometimes, and, God, sometimes there's nothing I want more than for things to be okay between us again, I've never regretted for a microsecond choosing you. It was the only choice I could make, really. Anything else... well, it doesn't bear thinking about. So, yeah, I gave up my family to be with you, but, in return, you've made me happier than I've ever been. You think you owe me something? I think we're pretty even."

"You know, you've kind of done that for me too, without the whole family sacrifice bit," Christian told him.

"There's no scoreboard, Christian. There's just you and me," he said, moving forward to take Christian's hands in his. "The only thing that matters to me is that you're happy. I thought... clearly idiotically... that the idea of getting married would make you happy, too. Since it clearly wouldn't, it doesn't matter. Nobody's perfect, Christian. God knows I'm not, and I don't expect _you_ to be. If I wanted to be with someone who agreed with everything I said and liked everything I liked and wanted everything I wanted, then I'd go out with my reflection."

"I'd be tempted to, if I was you," Christian replied, light-heartedly.

Syed let a smile grace his expression before turning serious again. "What I'm saying is... I love that you make me so happy without actively trying to. You don't just say things because I want to hear them, you say them because you mean them, and that's what makes them so lovely. You don't give into me when you think you're right, even when you're not. When it becomes this artificial thing where you're doing things you think I want, rather than because you want to do them? It makes me feel like I'm a _chore_."

Christian eyed him for a moment, before replying, with a fond smile on his face, "Well, you can be a bit of a one, sometimes."

"I know," Syed admitted. "And the fact that you still want to make me happy in spite of how difficult I can be sometimes? It means a lot to me. I don't want you to ruin that in order to score some points."

"So... basically, you're encouraging me to be selfish."

Syed stared at him, trying to follow the train of logic to understand how Christian had managed that particular interpretation of the text. "...sort... of. Of course you'd choose to see it like that."

"Well, it does come pretty naturally..." Christian said, mock-thoughtfully.

"I just mean... what I'm saying is... I want _you_, not someone who looks like you but has a two-second delay on everything he says to make sure it's _correct_."

"I really do love you, you know."

"I know, which is why it's so easy to forgive you for being such an idiot sometimes," Syed said, brightly.

"Ah, you're just nicking stuff from _Romeo and Juliet_ now," Christian retorted.

"Yeah, direct quote, that," he said. "What I'm trying to say is... I don't expect anything from you. Well, except the obvious standard monogamous relationship stuff. There's loads of stuff I want from you, but I only want you to do those things if you want to do them too."

"_What_?"

"Okay. If... if there's something about _us_, about _our _relationship, I don't want you doing what you _think_ I want. 'Cos, for one thing, you might be wrong. You are actually fallible, you know."

"Lies..."

"I want you to do what you think is best for _us_," he said. "We're partners; it's fifty-fifty. When stuff gets into the sixty-forty territory, it's where the resentment starts. I know some relationships work when one person makes all the decisions and the other one just goes along with it 'cos they don't want a fight, but I don't want ours to be like that. Not that I want us to fight... God, I'm awful at this."

"Yeah, you are," Christian said, grinning broadly.

"Thanks."

"Don't worry, I think it's _adorable_ you have the communication skills of a toddler. We can't all be masters of the spoken word, y'know."

"Yeah, okay, Christian, you're a regular Shakespeare of the verbal world."

"I dunno, I can talk you 'round to pretty much anything."

"No, Christian, just 'cos you're using your mouth to 'convince' me doesn't mean you're doing any talking."

"Really? I guess I was just confused with all the talk of 'oral'."

"Oh, it's a comedian too," Syed replied drolly, trying not to let sniggers escape.

"That sarcasm would be a lot more convincing if you weren't actually laughing for real," Christian said, pleased.

"I can't help it," he said. "It's just that 'I know this is terrible but I'm going to say it anyway' look that you get on your face."

"At least I'm aware when my jokes are terrible." Syed managed to form a look of offended displeasure. "Oh, Sy, _I _find you funny. Of course, it's ninety-percent how gorgeous you look when you manage to make me laugh and ten-percent pity, zero-percent actual amusement, but still. Good sense of humour wasn't why I applied for your ad."

"Oh? How would did that ad go?"

Christian pretended to give the matter deep thought. "Desperate man seeks anyone who'll have him. PS: if he can pull off a hairnet, I'm sold."

"Yeah, 'desperate'. In no way were there blokes queuing up 'round the block, offering up limbs for the chance to be with you. I was your last resort."

"Not _literally_... though I think someone offered me a Porsche once..."

"Seriously, Christian, I've never understood. You could have had anyone you wanted, why did you choose someone who made it so difficult for you?"

He'd hinted around this sort of thing their entire relationship. He'd never been able to ask outright. Christian not only wanting to be with him, but wanting to be with him so _badly_, at the expense of everything he believed in, willing to settle for stolen moments in the dark and isolation of his flat, when he was built for exuberance, for huge public displays of affection, for declaring his love to the world, had always seemed completely incomprehensible to him. Even after all this time, there was still a voice at the back of his mind wondering what he'd done to deserve to have this amazing person's love. A long time ago, he'd thought that maybe he'd done something _awful_ at some point and that having his faith and morality tested against the irresistibility of Christian was a punishment; a task he had been assigned for some previous misdeed. It didn't seem fair that just as he was beginning to make up for his sin and weakness with the four before, with his beautiful, socialite girlfriend and reconciliation with his family, that he walked into his family's new business and found this man who was impossible not to fall for. It had been a while since he'd thought like that, because he believed God only gave His followers challenges they could overcome, and not falling in love with Christian would have been an impossible assignment. It had been as natural as breathing and there had been nothing he could have done to stop himself from falling. No matter what anyone said, what he'd been taught, a part of him had never been able to accept that something that felt so right could ever be wrong in the way they said it was. It was hard to believe now that he could ever have considered Christian's presence in his life an affliction, a trial to overcome, when all could think when he looked at him now was how lucky he was to have the love of this man.

"You were just _that_ gorgeous," he replied.

Syed continued looking at him earnestly. "Christian."

His expression turned serious and Syed felt his stomach flip. "I dunno. I mean, at first, it was a bit, y'know, wanting what I couldn't have, forbidden fruit and all that... I always liked a challenge. And I was so _bored _of sleeping around, it was just so easy and predictable and I'd outgrown it all. And, anyway, winding you up was a right laugh, it was so easy..." he said, a tiny smile of fondness on his face. "Only for a couple of weeks, though, and even then it was something more... this _something_ I couldn't put my finger on, and I always wanted _more_. I just loved that no matter how much I got to know about you, there was always something else to find out. And I just couldn't get enough. I remember you used to talk about stuff, sometimes, sometimes trivial stuff, sometimes not, and you'd realise you'd been going on a bit and you'd get all embarrassed and clam up, thinking you were boring me... but you never did. I could've listened to you all day, talking about anything. I was desperate to find out everything about you, mostly because I knew I never could. And I _loved_ how passionately you felt about things. About your family, about your faith... even though they were getting in the way of us and I resented _them _so much sometimes, I always found how deeply you cared about that stuff lovely. Because knowing what you were capable of feeling, I wanted you to feel that deeply about me. The thought of having someone who was capable of loving like that loving _me_... I wanted that. I always wanted the best, I guess and I was lucky enough to get it. It was after the second time we had sex, that was when I _knew_ I was doomed. The way you looked at me... what I wanted, what I _really_ wanted, was for you to look at me like that all the time, not just when your guard was down, when you'd given leave to reason. I wanted you to look at me like I was the only person in the world in the cold light of day. I wanted _you _so badly, and I guess not being able to have you intensified it, but I can't imagine not loving you now, even if it _had_ been easy. Looking back, it's so hard to know what it was that made me fall for you, to know when it happened, because it happened so naturally, so seamlessly... it feels like it's always been a part of me, like everything in my life was always leading me to you."

Syed stared at him, speechless, not having an idea how to respond. He didn't know what he'd been expecting when he'd asked the question but that hadn't been it. Instead, he stepped forward and kissed him, trying to convey with actions what he couldn't with words.

Christian pulled back, but left their foreheads pressed together. "What was that you were saying about my lack of wordsmith...ness?" Christian asked, and Syed got an overwhelming urge to wipe that smirk of his face.

Syed smacked Christian's stomach lightly. "You do know how to kill a good moment, I'll give you that," Syed said. He regarded Christian's expression carefully, letting himself drink in every detail of his face. "You really mean all of that?"

"No, I just said it to get in your pants, obviously," he drawled. He reached up to caress Syed's face. "Of course. I mean every word. How can you doubt the way I feel about you after all this time?"

"I don't. Of course I don't. It's just hearing it all like that... it's... it's amazing."

"Well, so are you," Christian told him, with a sincerity and earnestness that left no room for argument, even while Syed flushed under the undeserved praise.

"You know, you drive me _insane _sometimes, but... you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Well, yeah, obviously," Christian said, tutting. "I'm insulted you even feel the need to say it."

Syed laughed. "I love you so much," he replied, the words surprising him as much as Christian. They still didn't seem sufficient for expressing the depth of feelings he had for Christian. He didn't think there _were_ words for it, none that he was capable of finding, anyway.

Christian smiled so happily at the words that Syed felt his heart lurch. When the "love you too" was murmured against his mouth, Syed knew beyond anything that there was nowhere else he'd rather be.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: _ This was initially one chapter, but it got ridiculously long even by my standards, so I've split it. I figured since this part was done I might as well throw it up. The last part isn't quite done yet, but should be up soonish, though I've got a ton of schoolwork to do (this was total procrastination. How to get me to update relatively quickly: give me something more important to do, clearly). Hope you enjoy x

* * *

_October 2012 _

Christian threw himself rather overdramatically on the couch when he got in, groaning loudly in order to attract Syed's attention from the kitchen where he could hear the clatter of meal preparation. He was really, truly thrilled that his business was taking off but it was completely exhausting, especially since he had managed to attract the most annoying clientele known to man.

"Are you looking all hard done by because you want sympathy? I can hear your self-pity from here," Syed called from the kitchen.

"Yes. Loads of sympathy. I deserve it. Geri was in today. You know, the one who calls me Christopher and is always trying to set me up with her seventeen-year-old daughter because she has a nose piercing and _you know what that means_. Apparently a 'good-looking boy like me would change her'. I'd appreciate the 'boy' thing if she wasn't five years younger than me."

"You know, I do sometimes wonder if you're a personal trainer or a psychologist, though her eyesight's clearly fine," Syed teased as he walked over, handing Christian his tray, leaning down to kiss his head as he did so.

"This you taking pity on me, letting me eat on the couch?"

"Since you're clearly not moving from that spot, I thought it'd save me the pouting and bargaining stages. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I can trust Mr. 'I Would Cry for A Week if Someone Stained the White Couch' to play safe."

"Good call," he replied, glancing down at his plate. "Sy, this looks great."

"Yeah, Mum gave me the recipe," Syed said, brightly.

Christian made a show of poking at it suspiciously with his fork. "You sure it's not poisonous to people over the age of thirty? It would be the perfect plan, leaving you unaffected."

"Yeah, unless 'garlic' means 'age-specific cyanide' these days, I think you'll be okay."

"Oh, by the way," he said, "you got an invitation from Roxy. It's on the coffee table there."

Christian leaned forward carefully to examine the cream invitation, smiling when he noticed the inclusion of two names. "Don't you mean _we _got an invitation from Roxy?"

"No, you and 'Sayed Masud' did, though."

"See, she's trying, though," Christian said.

"Yeah, it's really nice of her," Syed acknowledged. "I mean, I'm not going, but tell her that I really appreciate the gesture."

"Yeah, I'm quite surprised. She really has grow... What do you mean you're not going?"

"Well..." Syed began, a crease developing between his eyes. "I just assumed that you wouldn't want me to."

Christian snorted. "Don't be _ridiculous_. As if I'd pass up any opportunity to see you in a suit."

"You see me in a suit every day," Syed pointed out.

"And I still can't get enough, what does that say?"

"That you're trying to be cute to try to get me to go."

"Okay, so, first of all, I don't want you there, and now I want you there so badly I'm using flattery? Make up your mind, Sy."

"_Christian_. She's _your _friend. I'll just get in the way of all the... liver GBH. She certainly won't, she won't want her BFF's dull old teetotal tagging along. Why do you even want me there?"

"It's not like a completely unreasonable request, y'know. Is it too much to ask to go to a normal event like this? Being able to introduce you to people as my boyfriend? It's not like we do this a lot, Sy."

Christian saw Syed's expression soften, and had to repress the smile that gave away how easily Syed could assuage his anger. "I know. I _know_. I just... okay, I don't want to push stuff with my parents, you know?"

Resigned to his softness when it came to Syed, he felt his anger evaporate and he reached out and tucked a stray hair behind Syed's ear, watching his expression carefully. "I thought you were okay?" he asked.

"Well, 'okay' would be an overstatement of epic proportions, but... there's... communication? Which is something. And... I don't want to over-communicate and ruin stuff."

"_Over_-communicate?" Christian said, frowning in confusion.

Syed sighed, doing the incredibly annoying thing he did far too often of saying things that made sense only to himself and then acting like Christian was a moron for not understanding what he meant. "You know, too much of a good thing and all that..."

"I don't think there's any such thing as too much of a good thing," he said, grinning.

"Well, yeah," he said, granting Christian a small smile before his expression turned tentative again, "but I just want to be careful."

Christian nodded. "Okay, I get that. But, Sy, how long are you gonna do this for? It's been, what, six months since you saw them last? How about nine months, is that enough time? A year? Two?"

Syed looked at the blank television screen intently. "When they _initiate _it," he murmured.

"What if that never happens?" he asked. Hurt flashed in Syed's eyes and he instantly regretted his harsh wording. "I don't mean... I just meant, well, you know how pigheaded they can be. Your mum really swallowed her pride to come see you here, but what if she never finds it within herself to do it again? How can you have a relationship with your parents based on a bi-weekly, if that, phone call? You've got to take the initiative sometimes, Sy."

Syed raised an eyebrow. "By... doing it because my boyfriend says so?"

"When you know your boyfriend is right and you agree with him, yes. And won't it be better if you're not there to see them? If you just happen to be, say, at the christening of an acquaintance... "Syed rolled his eyes but Christian could see the half-heartedness in the gesture and silently congratulated himself. " If it all goes badly, you don't have to spend a lot of time with them, because you're not there to see them. Except you are, really, but you can save face if things don't work out the way you hoped."

"Yeah, maybe..." Syed said.

"It's only a weekend, Sy. We'll be home before you know it. Even if it happens to be the most horrifying experience of your life, it'll be the fastest one," he said. "You need to see Roxy, anyway. She's a changed woman. Never been happier."

"Having kids'll do that for you."

Christian felt a pang of guilt at the words. He looked at Syed, carefully, trying to see if there was any longing or regret in his face. If there was any, Syed had disguised it well. He let the twinge pass without dedicating too much thought to it. "She is now a respectable, upstanding woman, and she is getting no mercy from the piss I am going to take."

Syed chuckled. "You fell asleep in front of the TV at 9pm last night. It was my latest reminder I am with a pensioner. You have no leg on which to stand."

"Yeah, okay, desk jockey. Let's see you working out all day with _the_ most annoying people on God's green earth and see you still rearing to go at midnight," he said. "Look, Sy, I know... I know there are more attractive ways to spend your weekend..."

"Hmm, yeah, there was actually a Watching Paint Dry seminar I was _dying _to go to..."

"I _know_," he repeated insistently, "but I really appreciate that you're coming."

"You owe me, y'know."

"Oh, I know."

"No, I don't think you do. The thought of spending an entire weekend surrounded by Roxy, her family and her friends- present company excluded- makes me want to slit my throat. Followed up by having to visit your family, which involves Ian Beale..."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Christian said, shuddering.

"Exactly. On top of having to deal with _my _family. It's like my nightmare weekend. So I'll have to have some really, really good incentive to go."

"I'm sure I can think of something to make it worth your while," he said. "Oh, by the way, my old flat got rented out, so we'll be staying with Jane and Ian. But you've already promised me you'll come and I know you can't bear to break a promise to me, so, yeah. I thought you should know."

"Some incentive," Syed muttered under his breath. "I'm going to _kill _you."

Despite surely having some genuine annoyed feelings about being stuck in a house for a weekend with Ian, Syed's threats, as ever, fell flat coming from his softly-spoken voice and complete lack of anything menacing about him. "I deserve every blow," he replied, unable to stop himself from smiling.

* * *

It was actually pretty terrifying that Roxy had a _family _now, he thought as they drove towards their former home. She was an actual official grown-up. Knowing Roxy, the title of grown-up was probably more in theory than in practice, but it was as good as. She had a proper little nuclear family to call her own, and no matter what Syed said, he was going to mock her later for being such the sort of cliché they used to take the piss out of. It was true, though, that he was in no position to judge, what with him being so in love with someone other than himself that somewhere his old self was attempting to slit his wrists to escape his inevitable monogamous fate. His current self was completely the sort of smug bastard who said things like _I used to be exactly the same, never believed in love; you just haven't met the right man yet_. Okay, he wouldn't actually _say _them, because that went from smug to obnoxious, but he did look back at his past self, not with regret or shame, but with a kind of sympathy at what he hadn't even realised he'd been missing. He didn't regret his past in the slightest, partly because so much of the time it'd been such a laugh, being completely free, without obligations or ties, but mostly because every amazing experience he'd had, every mistake he'd made, every bloke he'd pulled had led him to Syed. Though he wouldn't quite explain it like _that _to Syed, it was true. Once upon a time, his biggest regret in life had been David, but now he looked back at it and wondered how differently things would have turned out without that happening. It wasn't like he could ever consider it a good thing, and he still felt rotten about it, but it felt necessary now, like a piece of a bigger puzzle he hadn't seen forming back then. He wasn't a big believer in fate or destiny or any of that, but he did believe that every decision you made led you to where you're supposed to be. Sometimes it wasn't a place you wanted to be. Sometimes it was. Sometimes you end up in a place you never expected to find, a place you thought was for other people, a place that seemed unattractive, claustrophobic, even, but was actually everything you wanted, you just didn't know it. He looked over at Syed, who was watching the road with undivided attention. He grinned broadly at the thin line of concentration furrowing his boyfriend's brow and Syed actually managed to take his eyes off the road for more than a second as he felt Christian's on him.

"You seen another rude word in a licence plate?" he asked, a smile on his face, too, and it made Christian's heart flutter that his own smile was enough to produce one in Syed.

"Yeah, that's exactly it," he replied.

Syed grinned back and shook his head in put-on annoyance, and he knew that Syed knew what was producing Christian's happiness. Though he can only see his profile as his eyes once again fixate on the road, Christian could picture his expression _exactly_. "Grow up, Christian."

* * *

This time, being back, it wasn't some transforming experience. It was just a place. A place where he once lived, and it was familiar and pleasant, but it didn't feel like home anymore. He had a memory on practically every inch of this square, but he didn't see himself making many more. He would always adore Walford for what it brought him; a longed-for reconciliation with his sister and, with it, the sort of family he'd always wished for growing-up, the best friend he'd ever had, and _Syed_. It seemed almost unbelievable that there had been a time when he'd wished to escape Walford, its cloying, inescapable memories toxic to his mental state, its proximity to Syed as painful as it was comforting. It had been this that made him consider Walford _home_. He'd never _wanted_ to leave, not really, but he'd felt like he had to. He hadn't been _ready _to move on. He'd had a million unresolved issues with people, so many obligations he'd been abandoning, and loved ones he had been deserting. But now? Those issues weren't exactly resolved, nor could they ever fully be, but he'd come to terms with them. How many times he'd told Syed that running away, hiding, escaping would solve nothing and when it really came down to it, that was what it he had been doing. While Syed coming with him had been the most amazing to have happened to him in his entire life and he wouldn't change a thing because of that, it didn't change anything. It wasn't like a normal leaving where he'd sorted out everything before he went. He'd taken _Zainab's _advice, for God's sake. If that wasn't a clear sign he'd been a total mental case with many, many unresolved issues, nothing was. But, now? Now, not only was he ready to move on, he had. He still had his ties here, and so did Syed, but the ties were the only draw. There was no feeling of coming back home, just coming to somewhere familiar, which was another matter entirely. Sure,_ familiar _was comforting and reassuring, but it wasn't the same thing as being home. Home was the place where you were happiest, theoretically speaking, anyway, and that place was back in Leeds, because that was the place where Syed had been happiest. No matter where he was, he'd be home as long as he was with Syed, but knowing that having a permanent place that Syed had paid for with his own money was what he'd always wanted, it made it hard to picture any other place as a home.

"You okay, Sy?" Christian said, glancing over, noticing how though they'd parked, Syed was still gripping the steering wheel, hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just always weird being back here. Like, you think about a place so often and it's exactly like you remember, but it's nothing like it, at the same time," he said. "It's like when I was a kid, we had a school trip to a TV studio of this show I loved. And I remember being really disappointed how much smaller everything was. It's a bit like that. This place... this place changed my life in so many ways, I forget it's just a place. That makes no sense, admittedly, but that's the only way I can explain it."

"No, Sy, I get it. I really do," Christian said. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be to be in the same room as Ian Beale. Which is 'no'."

Christian smiled widely, showing teeth. "My family is Ian Beale, yours is your mother. I think you 'win'."

"I think it's a tie," he muttered.

Christian laughed as he walked towards his family's home. He glanced back and noticed that Syed was hanging back, hands in his pockets. Christian spent so much time alone with him, he forgot how uncomfortable he could be around people who weren't him. It didn't help that his family hadn't exactly gone out of their way to make him feel welcome in the past. "Sy," Christian said, stretching his hand out for Syed to take. He wished he could just make Syed automatically integrate into the family without time or effort required. Universal balance seemed to require that given that Syed's family's acceptance was still tentative and they hated Christian with the passion of a thousand burning suns, he should be welcomed into Christian's with open arms. Unfortunately, the universe didn't quite work that way, so all Christian could do was to hold his hand and try to encourage him to feel comfortable around them. At the end of the day, though, Syed's family was down the street, but could've been a million miles away.

He knocked on the door, greeted by the sight of his sister. Last time he'd seen her in the flesh, she'd been haggard and washed-out by the fluorescent lights of a hospital room, so to see her looking healthy and happy again made a huge smile spread across his face. "Oh, babe, you look amazing."

"Thank-you," she said, glancing down at herself with the self-consciousness she'd had since childhood and he knew would never go away. He wondered if the genetic pool provided a certain amount of confidence and he'd hoarded it all, pre-emptively. "Come in, both of you. It's nice to see you, Syed." It was a formality, Christian knew, but it was still good to hear.

"You do look lovely," Syed said to her, quietly, as they entered the living room, with the sort of shyness that could only tell of complete sincerity. Jane beamed at him and looked more than a little touched. "Thank-you."

"You're a lucky man, Ian," Christian said, deliberately too loud.

Ian was staring at something out of the window, arms crossed over his chest, throwing Christian an uninterested, "Uh-huh" before turning back, and saying, "Syed, how much did that car set you back?"

"You are not, however, a lucky woman," Christian appended. "Hello to you, too, Ian."

She scoffed. "No kidding. I'm getting a drink, you want one?"

"God, yes."

Syed shifted, scratching his nose, clearly uncomfortable. Christian was about to tell Ian to mind his own business, but just as he opened his mouth, Syed replied, "Uh, a fair bit, not a ridiculous amount but enough to stop any holidays further than Blackpool for a year or two. But, y'know, I have savings and stuff. I've not always been so good with money, taking stupid risks and stuff... and it gets you nowhere. To say the least."

"And you bailed your parents out a while back," Ian said, with confidence.

Syed frowned, but Christian thought he was pleasantly surprised underneath the confusion. "They told you?"

"Well, no," Ian told him, and Syed's expression darkened, "but it doesn't take a genius to work it out. How much _are _they paying you? It's not like it's brain surgery, is it, selling houses?"

"Well, that's not all I do..."

Watching Syed's body language even while his ear was tuned into Jane, Christian grinned, not quite believing that he was actually grateful for Ian's obsession with money and penchant for covetousness. Syed was talking openly, confidently, in a way that Christian couldn't have imagined a few minutes ago. His career was the one thing that was _his_, pure his, and partly because of this, and partly because it was something that had happened as a direct result of their relationship, it was something he was proud of. Given the appropriate opportunity to talk about it, he would, at length, and even though actually listening would bore Christian into a coma, he tended to tune out the actual words and just watch how Syed's eyes brightened, as it was one of the few things he actually felt passionately about that weren't people. Unlike most people would be at this point, Ian didn't look bored, but rather inquisitive. His sister pressed a glass into his hand, asking about how his business was doing, and he heard himself replying, but his attention was elsewhere. He couldn't take his eyes off Syed, looking happy and free in the home of his family, being patient with the annoying in-laws and it was so _normal_ he had one of those moments where he couldn't quite believe it was real.

* * *

After depositing his tipsy boyfriend on the couch, insisting that he did not, in fact, want to '_give Ian a show', _Syed went for a walk. Being at the Beales' was better than he'd expected, in that he hadn't wanted to die from boredom and hadn't felt like a total outsider, but seeing Christian surrounded by family had given him a bitter taste of envy that he didn't much like in himself, particularly when it was of his own boyfriend for something he couldn't help. Not quite courageous enough to walk up to his parents' house uninvited, he decided to just walk around for a bit, lingering every time he passed the house, hoping someone will happen to be putting the bin out or would see him and wave him inside.

They knew he was coming up today. He'd told his mum they were coming up for a visit, with a hope she'd react with some degree of enthusiasm. Maybe it was because he'd said _we _rather than _I. _All he knew was there had been an awkward silence and his mother had none-too-subtly changed the subject. He'd been hurt when his mother hadn't offered to see him, though he'd thought it too presumptuous to ask himself. He'd thought they'd been progressing, building bridges, and now he was in town, she apparently didn't want to see him at all. They talked pretty regularly on the phone, they were _in contact_, so he didn't get what difference being face-to-face made. Maybe their talk all those months ago had been too candid, and the thought of seeing him in the flesh after that sort of intimacy of confession was too much. Just as he was about to give up and go back to the Beales', he spotted his mother coming up the road, trying to manoeuvre a pram while carrying shopping bags. Rather than waiting for someone to come home to help her, she'd clearly thought she was better off doing it herself instead of delaying it a single second. It was both completely impractical and completely _her_ and he couldn't help the rush of fondness he felt as a result. He rushed up the pavement, wanting to lighten her load, if only literally. His mother spotted him and soon the shopping bags lay on the ground forgotten as she opened her arms to hug him. Being back in the warmth of her embrace would always remind him of the simplicity of childhood, feeling her hand stroke his back comfortingly, like she had so many times throughout his younger years and some of his manhood, too, and without any of the stiffness or awkwardness of their last embrace. She pulled back and when she smiled at him, he realised something wasn't quite right. "It's good to see you," he said, picking up the abandoned carriers as she moved her hands to grip his brother's stroller.

His mother nodded. "Come back to the house," she replied, and he noticed his comment about his pleasure at her presence went unreciprocated. "I have something I need to tell you."

* * *

After he finished assisting her with putting the shopping away and she'd put his brother to bed, she placed a cup of tea in front of him. He took a sip, thinking no-one made tea for him quite like his mother.

A few moments of fidgeting and throat-clearing later: "Your sister is getting married," she said.

It wasn't what he'd been expecting. He'd been expecting a death of a distant but beloved relative, or illness in the family. This was technically good news, but it was still something like news of a bereavement to _him_. Another family event at which he was not welcome, because he had not always put his family first. "Oh. That's... that's brilliant news," he replied, forcing a smile and hoping the disappointment didn't show on his face, despite the sinking feeling he had in his stomach.

"I wanted to tell you. I was going to, but when you said you were coming up anyway, I decided it'd be better to tell you face-to-face," she told him. "But your father..."

His head snapped up. "Dad, what?"

"He thought it would be better if you didn't know at all," she told him, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. "But I think it would be more hurtful to Shabnam, her brother not turning up to her wedding, without even an excuse."

"So you want me to think up an excuse, is that it?" he asked, trying to disguise the pain from his tone, as he played with a loose thread n his jeans.

"No," she said, placing a hand over his fidgeting one to still it. She'd always hated his fiddling. "I want you to be there."

He knew that he should have played down his joy at the words, but he felt his whole face light up. "Really?"

"Yes. It would look far better if we were there as an entire family. There are already whispers about you, this would put people's minds at ease. And their vocal chords as well," she added, a note of maliciousness in her tone.

He felt his smile falter and his perception of his father's motives for not wanting him there shifting. His mother had tried, subtly, to cast his dad as the villain of the piece, in order to make him side against him, and, by default, side _with _her, but those words made him reconsider. It wasn't just that his father didn't want him there; he also didn't want to pretend that they were one big happy family, which was something Syed could get behind. That, at least, was honest and he could respect that, even if it hurt. His mother didn't truly want him to be there, at this respectable Muslim ceremony full of respectable Muslim people, but she wanted to quell the spread of rumour more. Going from believing that his mother loved him so much she didn't want him to miss the happiest day of his sister's life and was willing to put their differences aside to realising that she was just keeping up appearances _really _hurt. She was using him to present this image of a perfect family that not only did not exist, but had never existed, even before he'd left his family behind.

"I wasn't planning on going around with my 'I'm gay' sandwich board on," he told her, attempting to be light-hearted, comforting, to convince her that she _did _want him there, and not just for personal gain.

"Of course, we can't let on you've been single all this time..."

"I _haven't _been single all this time," he muttered, drawing his hand away from hers.

She glanced down at his now-free hands. He thought she looked a little rejected, but that might have been projection on his part. "In the eyes of the law, you're single."

He let the weight of her words settle on him. "I can't pretend to be married!" he exclaimed, disbelievingly. He didn't know why he was surprised. A woman who was prideful enough to let her business go under rather than to admit she was in trouble would be perfectly capable of expecting her son to be straight and married in public.

"It's not such a lie, is it?" she asked.

He gaped at her to assess whether she actually was being serious and only replied when he could find no trace of humour in her expression, only desperation for him to play along. He was tempted for a moment to tell her that he could be married to Christian right now, and it was only the other man's hesitation that meant that they weren't. It may have been the first time in her life she would've been grateful to Christian regarding their relationship. He managed to bite his tongue, though, not wanting to taint something that had been borne of a desire to show love and commitment by using it as a weapon. "Yes! Yes, it really is, Mum. It couldn't be _more _of a lie. Am I supposed to hire someone to play my wife? Or are we just asking Christian to dress up in drag?"

"No, your wife is ill, it's nothing serious, it's most unfortunate that she can't make it..."

He shook his head, trying to shake the stupidity of her words from his brain. "And _what_?" He laughed, bitterly. "You didn't throw your firstborn son a big wedding? You let him _elope_?"

She shrugged. "She's from Pakistan, we had the wedding amongst _her _family," she said, as if the location of his non-existent wife was entirely obvious.

"And didn't invite a single guest from home?" he asked, and then realised by asking questions pointing out the 'plot holes', he was playing along, to an extent. He was helping her to construct the perfect, unquestionable fantasy and wanting to kick himself.

"We didn't want to embarrass anyone who couldn't afford it. And we had Amira in mind, too, it would have been disresp..."

The thought of using Amira- even just her name- in order to facilitate a lie to maintain the family reputation _again_ was enough to change him from disbelieving to actually angry. "No. _No. _No, Mum. I'm not pretending to be married," he said, and as she opened her mouth, he finished, "Or engaged."

"Syed..." she tried.

"Or engaged to be engaged or thinking about engagement or _whatever," _he exclaimed. "I wouldn't tell the truth, because it's nobody's business but mine and I know it'd do more harm than good, but I'm not going to lie like that, either."

"Do you know how odd it looks that a boy of your age and eligibility is unmarried? That your fiancée just disappeared sight unseen for no reason?"

"Yeah, the thing is, Mum, I don't _care_ how it looks." Though, technically, it was the truth, it wasn't entirely accurate. He didn't really care anymore, at least nowhere near the extent he used to, but he _did _care that _she_ cared. There was always that part of him that thought _what would Mum think? _whenever he did _anything_. It was beneficial when it came to career-related things, because he would hear his mother's words of encouragement from years ago, telling him that he could do anything he set his mind to if he just worked hard enough. He'd become adept at ignoring that _but-Mum-would-say _voice when it came to the more personal aspects of his life, but he couldn't help the whisper at the back of his mind sometimes. That tiny part of him that had whispered words of relief when Christian had said _no_ to the prospect of them getting married, even when the rest of him was a bit disappointed. That part that wondered what people would think and what they would say if they really knew him. The part of him that was nervous when he walked into mosque, worried his gaze would linger too long or someone would have seen him out and about with Christian, looking 'overfriendly'. It didn't bother him as much as it used to, but when faced with the inspiration for that voice, it became a lot more difficult to ignore. That part of him was still a little boy, eager to please his mum and willing to do anything, _sacrifice _anything, to make her happy. The rest of him had grown up, but that part of his mind had arrested development and was eternally worried what his mum would say if she knew he hadn't scored well on his spelling test.

"Well, _I do_. I do care. You have no idea how hard we worked to drag our family name up from the mud, and not just the once. And all I ask of you is this one simple thing. For you to tell a lie that's barely even a lie to save our family's reputation from being dragged through the mud. To help your brother's marriage prospects? I'm not asking you for a lot here, Syed."

He was _almost_ swayed in that moment, he wouldn't be proud to admit later. It was only a day, a part of his mind whispered to him: one day of pretence. After almost twenty-six years of becoming an expert in self-deception, and deceiving others, it'd be _so_ _easy_ to pretend. He thought of the reward of being able to spend a day as a member of the family for the sacrifice of a simple few hours of lies. Everyone lied at weddings, anyway. They lied about promotions that had never been, grades that had never been achieved, achievements that had never existed; everyone rubbing off the sharp edges of disappointment and ordinariness, in order to impress. All he would have to do is swap out pronouns, tell stories of his relationship with Christian, ones that with a simple change of gender would raise a smile rather than a look of horror. But he knew he couldn't do it to himself, and he definitely couldn't do it to Christian. He could only imagine Christian's reaction to him lying about their relationship like that, as if he was ashamed of it. It'd be one thing to not mention him, to lie by omission; he thought Christian would understand the necessity, even if he wasn't happy about it. However, actively, willingly deleting him from his life in order to appease a group of ill-liked acquaintances and strangers was something else entirely. It'd be a betrayal to Christian, but, most of all, it'd be a betrayal to himself. It would make a complete mockery of everything he'd gone through to be with him, and he just couldn't do it, not for a second.

"Yeah, you kind of are. I can't do it, Mum. Either you have me there as I am, or not at all." She didn't reply, but the answer was self-evident. "Tell Shabnam I'm sorry."

"Syed, you're being unreasonable," she said, sounding so desperate for him to just _do it_. The voice whispered, _it'll be so easy_, but he shoved it down.

"Yeah, and my mother only being able to publicly acknowledge me if I lie to everyone she cares about... that's totally reasonable, is it? How would you feel, Mum, if you had to walk around pretending that you didn't love Dad? You had to smile and laugh and pretend that Dad didn't exist, that he wasn't the greatest thing that ever happened to you?

"I _do_, Syed. I do have to smile and laugh and pretend. Do you think it's easy having a second marriage? _Knowing _that there are people who look down their nose at you for falling in love at the wrong time, as if I could help it? Especially given the circumstances after I... left."

"But everyone knows you love Dad, that you've got a family with him, that you've been together for twenty years," he said. "That's all that matters in the end. I could do all the rest, but asking me to treat my relationship with Christian as something to hide away, I just can't do it, Mum. I've done it before and it nearly killed both of us, and hurt every single person I gave half a damn about. I know it's only a day, but if that's what you're asking me to do, I can't do it."

She looked him square in the eyes, so he could see the regret in her eyes, but also the steely determination that was unwilling to bend as much as his. It was evident they were at an impasse. It was funny, they both wanted the same thing, but they still managed to disagree. "Then I'm sorry, Syed. I _really _am."

"Me too," he said, quietly. He stood up, and walked out of the house that he'd once been able to call his own, though he'd often felt more of a stranger there than anywhere, trying to convince himself it wasn't that important. It was only a wedding; he could see the pictures. He tried to convince himself of all this even as he wiped away the tears that he felt forming in his eyes. Things had been getting better and he'd deluded himself into thinking that meant things _were _better. They weren't.


	22. Chapter 22

_February 2010 _

Syed returned home, a couple of days after he'd blown his family apart. For all the shouting and screaming and insult-hurling, they'd never officially kicked him out of the house and he wasn't quite sure where he stood, but he had to try to make it right. He knew it was impossible and he couldn't undo the damage he'd done, but he couldn't just sit being a self-pitying mess in some dingy hotel room for the rest of his life. The house was dark, though it wasn't particularly late. He'd been careful to return at a reasonable hour, so as to not wake his newborn brother. Feeling like it wasn't his home to walk into freely any longer, he knocked on the door, despite having a key. When no-one answered, he thought he might as well try his luck. If no-one was home, at least he could pack a bag. The clothes on his back weren't exactly spring fresh. When he walked into the hall, he could hear breathing coming from the living room. He turned on the light and his mother was sat at the dining table, just staring into space. He didn't know what to say. As it was, he didn't have to.

"How could you do this to us, Syed?" his mother asked. Her voice was quiet, ripped raw from crying, and guilt pierced through him. Guilt was something that he'd carried around with him most of his life, it had been with him when nothing and no-one else had been. It had been the single most consistent influence on his life. He couldn't remember a single day where he hadn't had some thought or done something that had caused shame to shoot through him. Some more than others, of course, but it was always there, as much a part of him as anything else. It almost defined him, and it was certainly behind some of the stupider mistakes in his life. He'd have thought he'd have gotten used to it, that its very excess would make him immune to feeling the full extent of it. It had become evident in the past few days that he'd been an idiot. His guilt's experience had just made it stronger, more able to tear him apart. He could never become accustomed to letting down the people he loved.

His own eyes sprang hot. He'd cried so much over the past couple of days he wasn't sure how his body could continue to produce tears. "I didn't... I didn't mean to..."

She scoffed. "So it was an accident, was it? I may not have the slightest ideas how _these_ _things _work." The words were ground out and _spat _at him. He never thought two such innocuous words could ever sound so _dirty_, so condemning. There was a small pause, where she let him turn over the words in his mind, feel the shame she felt he deserved. That he _did_ deserve. "But I'm fairly sure they don't happen accidentally."

"No. That's not what I meant. It wasn't an _accident_," he said, his voice shaking. He felt like a child who'd made a mistake, who just wanted to scream out that it had been an accident. Because it had been, in a way. Having a relationship with Christian in secret hadn't been an accident, of course, but everyone finding out and the hurt he'd caused had been entirely accidental. He had never meant for anyone to find out like this. Being perfectly honest, he'd never planned for anyone to find out at all. He'd known that the ways things were couldn't continue. He knew he'd have to marry Amira or come clean, but he hadn't wanted to do either. "I... didn't want to hurt you, Mum. That was the last thing I ever wanted. I didn't want to hurt _anyone_, especially not you."

"And yet you... you... did _that_," she said, the shudder that racked her frame making a cold feeling clamp around his stomach. He couldn't quite comprehend that his mother, who had defended his every misstep, justifiably so or not, was disgusted with his behaviour. He'd seen her disgust at the behaviour of others, and had sometimes found her self-righteousness and moral superiority about every possible topic wryly amusing, but he'd never really thought that she could ever bring herself to aim it at him. Of course, she'd never hidden how she felt about _people like that_, but some eternally childlike part of him had always thought _she's my mum, she'll accept me no matter what_. She sprang to her feet, suddenly animated by her fury. "Whatever you say or do from now on, Syed, there will always be a time you put this... thing before me, before your family. Before your _God_. And perhaps one day I will be able to forgive you, but those facts will never change."

"I'm... Mum. Please, listen to me," he said, grabbing her arm to make her face him full-on, but she wrenched it away. He didn't have the strength to fight her, on any level. "I _tried_. I tried so hard. I tried to be everything you wanted, but..."

"You didn't try hard enough," she cut him off. "_That man_ has his ways, I know, but you could've resisted him, for us. For me. But you didn't. How can I ever look you in the eye again, Syed? How can I ever look at you as the son I knew, knowing that you let that man... _a _man..."

He attempted to look her in the eye, but she wouldn't raise her eyes to him. Her body was still turned away from him, as if there were some sort of natural repellent between mother and the son who had failed her. "I'm sorry, Mum. I'm _sorry_. Christian..."

She came alive again, anger burning in her eyes. "You don't ever say that name in this house ever again. You hear me, Syed? As far as you're concerned, he doesn't exist. He never existed. Whatever twisted thing he had you believing the pair of you had, under this roof, it _never happened_."

"It wasn't like that..." The words sounded pathetic, even to his own ears. He had no intention of truly committing to the line of thought.

"What was it like?" she asked, eyes narrowed, arms folded across her chest. Her expression oozed false interest. "_Please_ tell me. Please tell me what was worth damning yourself, and your entire family, for."

The words burst out of him before he could stop them, "I _love_ him." He was pleading with her, with these words. Thoughts had tumbled desperately, and he'd needed her to _understand_ even if she could never forgive. She'd gone against her family for love, surely she could understand how the power of it could overwhelm your obligation, your _devotion_, to your family. He'd never heard her speak of her family. He wondered if she'd loved her mother as much as he loved her.

She laughed. He thought it couldn't get any more painful, and then she _laughed _at him, as if he'd told a distasteful joke that wasn't particularly funny, but she couldn't help but laugh at. It burst out of her, like a noxious gas. "You _love _him. You really believe that, Syed? You really believe that that's what love is? Sneaking around behind everyone's back? You think for one second that he thinks of you as anything but a particularly difficult challenge? Oh, how proud he must be of himself, capturing the Muslim boy from the good family."

He placed his hands over his face trying to hide himself from her. "Don't, Mum, please."

"And he walks away, this family falling apart as a result of his depravity, but what does it matter to him, huh? He's had his fun," she spat.

"It wasn't _fun_ for him..." he replied.

Her face was contorted into a snarl. He thought he'd seen the expression before, but the memory was indistinct because it had been so long ago. He didn't appreciate the resurrection. "Are you going to defend him, Syed? Are you really going to stand in front of me and _defend_ him?" she said. "I love you, Syed. No matter how much damage you've done, I will always love you. But if you ever... _ever_... try to justify this to me, you won't be any son of mine."

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

"And go where, exactly?" she enquired, with a sneer. "Into his arms? Just as you want."

"No, just... away. If you don't want me here," he managed. He would do it if that was what she wanted, even if it would be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do.

But, to his amazement, she shook her head. "I want to help you, Syed. I want to help you overcome this."

"Overcome _what_?" he asked. "Being g-"

"_Don't_," she said, raising a hand to stop him. "I understand it's difficult, Syed. But we all have our temptations, don't we? Placing labels on our failings is so simple, but it's confining. Being weak is not who you are, it certainly doesn't need a descriptor. Our faith to God would mean nothing if it wasn't tested. True faith comes from rising above temptation, doesn't it? From doing what's _right_?"

"Yeah," he said, just to say something. It was so quiet that he doubted his mum had heard.

"And you know what's right here, don't you?"

He swallowed, bracing himself. "Yes."

"I know it won't be easy," she said, sounding more like the mother who'd treated his scraped knees like terminal illnesses than the barely recognisable snarling, sneering woman from mere minutes ago. "I understand how you justify these things to yourself, how you convince yourself it's not wrong. It's so easy to do, particularly with some oh-so-eager help. But it _is_ wrong. And you know that. Otherwise you would never have strove to hide it from everyone. These feelings will go away, with time. You've just got to want to try."

He didn't reply, and this time, he was the one who couldn't bring himself to look at her. These words meant nothing to him, he couldn't believe them, though he desperately wished he could. He'd been 'trying' since he was a teenager. She stood up, standing before him and gripped his chin tight with her fingers, forcing him to look her in the eye. "I know you want to make us proud, Syed. And you still can, I know that. But not like this, you've got to leave it all behind," she said, caressing his face in such a motherly display of tenderness his heart sang. "It was good before, wasn't it? All of us together, a _family_. Not perfect, but these things never are. You'll see, Syed, it can _be good again_."

And he nodded, condemning himself, and wondered if any God could inflict a worse punishment on him than this one.

_October 2012 _

Syed returned to the Beales' after a few minutes of aimless wandering in the Square to regain his composure. He entered the living room, hoping the full-time residents of the house were out, and the temporary one was still snoring. His first wish was granted, at least; the house was too quiet to be fully occupied when he entered. When he went into the living room, the room was dim and Christian was sprawled across the couch that was too small to fit his giant frame. He was still wearing his clothes from earlier, but he'd removed the jacket, shoes and, for some reason, one sock. The top few buttons were unfastened. He looked like an overgrown child who'd gotten into his dad's wardrobe, and Syed smiled despite himself.

"Doing the creepy stalker bit?" Christian asked, making Syed jump. Apparently not so asleep after all.

"Hi," Syed said, tapping on Christian's legs to make him budge up. Christian pulled himself into a sitting position and his wince made it evident the move didn't agree with him. Syed rested his head against Christian's shoulder.

"Did I embarrass you horribly?" he asked, groggily, taking in Syed's sombre expression.

"Yep. Totally showed me up," he said, lazily, burrowing further into the embrace, needing the physical comfort. "That's why I'm so angry with you right now and don't want to be anywhere near you."

Christian observed him carefully. "You don't look angry, you just look... sad," Christian told him. "Please don't say you're 'not angry, you're just disappointed', I might _actually_ throw myself off a building. With the tap dancers in my head, I'm already a bit tempted."

"Nah, you were fine," Syed reassured him. "You were hardly off your face or anything."

"So what's wrong?" Christian asked, nudging him.

"Nothing. Being back here does stuff to you, doesn't it?" he replied, staring out of the window. "Makes you all... nostalgic."

"Is that all this is?" Christian asked, brow furrowed in concern. "Because _that _I get."

It wasn't exactly a lie, he assured himself. The longing to go back to the simplicity of before, when an invitation to his sister's wedding would have been a given, not something he had to give up part of himself for, had been triggered by a specific event, but it was still _there_. "Yeah. That's all it is."

Sensing his heart wasn't quite in it, Christian peered at him inquisitively. "You sure you're all right, Sy?"

Feeling like a huge traitor, he replied, "Yeah, I'd tell you if I wasn't, wouldn't I?" because he _was _going to tell him. He had every intention of telling him, when they were back home, and Christian couldn't cause any of his own special brand of well-intentioned, poorly-thought-out trouble. It wasn't even a big deal, not going to a wedding. Loads of people didn't go to family weddings, it wasn't exactly front page news. He knew that wasn't true, though, because it was a huge deal to _him_ and because of that, Christian would see it like that too. He wasn't good at disguising his emotions from Christian at the best of times, and this wasn't one of those. He wanted to be at his sister's wedding, but not as much as he wanted to be there with Christian. He could almost picture it, some alternate universe, being there, Christian by his side, all dressed-up and gorgeous, people not even glancing at the fact that their hands were joined, not caring about the intimate whispers in ears. But he had to live in this world, and he wasn't willing to give up any more of himself for the sake of the _appearance _of family unity. Maybe if his mum had really wanted him there, he could have pretended, just for a day, but she hadn't. He wasn't willing to be false. To create more falseness was just beyond his abilities of deception these days. He'd grown rusty at what had once come so naturally to him. Lies had once been a second language to him, almost as usual as his native tongue, and now he wasn't even fluent.

Seeming relieved by the statement, Christian settled back down into the couch, relaxing, making Syed feel even worse. "Tea?"

"Yeah."

"Does Ian even _do_ tea?" Syed asked, letting a small smile push his lips into a curve. "I'm surprised he doesn't make you lot go to the caf for beverages. Or at least pay to use his facilities."

"My lot? This lot _are_ your lot," Christian told him.

"I _have _my lot, thanks," Syed said, staring down at where his hands were clasped rather too tightly between his knees for appearances of normality. He loosened his grip. "I _definitely _don't need another one."

"You're part of my family," Christian said.

"Yeah, okay. Jane doesn't like me, Lucy doesn't like me, I'm pretty sure Bobby still has his doubts and Ian doesn't like anyone. Actually," he mused, "that does sound a lot like my own family."

"You _are_ my family, so, by default, you're part of this one, too," Christian said, kissing the top of his head.

"Does that make us incestuous?" Syed asked, frowning.

"Shut up," Christian said, whacking him lightly on the stomach. "All I mean is that as long as I'm welcome here, you will be, too. Look, their feelings about our history aside, they know how happy you make me, and for that alone, they'll like you. Except Ian, he couldn't give a crap whether I'm happy or not. Though he may be grateful for you for taking me away from Walford, so even there, there's room for manoeuvre..."

"Christian, it's okay. _Really_. I don't mind not being considered 'part of the family'. It's not like I've done anything to earn a place, or even, you know, been around for them to get used to. You of all people know being in a relationship with someone doesn't default to 'yay in-laws' and that's okay for me, too, honest. Besides, not getting on with the in-laws is a traditional partner pastime. Not like I'm not used to family exclusion, anyway," he added, thoughtlessly.

Christian's forehead wrinkled immediately with concern and Syed cursed himself silently for not being able to keep his mouth shut. "You sure you didn't run into your parents? They didn't say anything to you?" Christian asked, and sometimes Syed really, _really _hated how perceptive he was. Surely his sleep-groggy and mildly hung-over self should have limited his ability to see through him as if his thoughts were written on his face, but it clearly hadn't.

He resisted the urge to just tell him everything, but he sensed it would do more harm than good unless he waited until his mother and Christian had a few counties between them before he told him anything. "I just saw Mum before," he admitted, not able to flat-out lie. "Made me realise how much I miss her."

"Yeah?" Christian said, still not convinced.

"Yeah," Syed replied, trying to smile convincingly. "Can't wait to go home, though. Ironically enough, it's kind of a lot easier to communicate with my family when I'm not within walking distance of them."

"That's families for ya. Can't live with 'em... actually, that's it. Can't live with them," Christian said brightly, his face relaxing again. "Gotta tell you, though, you're slacking. You're not winning at shitty family communication 'til there's a whole ocean between you and your parents."

"Well, you always do go to extremes," he replied. "Y'know, you've had the _grand honour _of the whole meet-the-parents bit, when am I going to get it?"

Christian's responsive look of horror was verging on comedic. Syed had to stop himself from laughing by placing a hand over his mouth. The fact that the horror probably wasn't much exaggerated from what Christian was actually feeling was what made it amusing. "Consider yourself lucky they're on a different continent."

"They're not that bad, are they?" Syed asked.

The subject of Christian's parents rarely came up. Except for the odd anecdote about his childhood, or cards at birthdays or Christmas that were shoved in cupboards after the special occasion was over and forgotten, he didn't bring them up. Syed didn't want to push it and risk upsetting Christian, so he never forced the issue. He knew it was impossible, anyway, to get Christian to talk when he didn't want to, but he wanted to know as much as possible about the people who had created this man. He imagined that the person Christian had become was largely down to Christian himself, but, still, it would have been nice to know a little something about them beyond their lack of acceptance of his coming out and the twenty-year stalemate that had followed. It was just alien to him, because he couldn't help but talk about his parents whenever he talked about himself no matter how much it hurt him to, because they'd been, and still were, such a huge part of him. It was more of a torture than a comfort these days, but he could never deny it.

While Christian didn't like Syed's parents, to say the least, he'd been allowed to come to that conclusion himself. Syed would give his right arm to suffer through uncomfortable lunches with barely-veiled insults from Christian's mum if he could be rewarded with stories from Christian's childhood, pictures of dodgy haircuts, embarrassing stories that would make for good blackmail material. He was sure if he made clear to Christian how happy it would make him, Christian would do it without question, but it wasn't the same thing. He wanted Christian to be comfortable enough with where he'd come from to do it of his own accord. Though it hurt to think he had come to terms with his strained parental relationships, he just didn't feel comfortable enough around _Syed _to open up that much. He knew that was ridiculous, and Christian would cut his heart out of his chest and show it to him if that was what he wanted, but he couldn't help the touch of pained doubt he always got when his thoughts ended up down this road. He wanted to know everything he could about him, and God only knew what memories Christian's parents had of him that Christian didn't even have himself. It just seemed like a natural part of any relationship that they were missing out on, and while Syed could definitely live with it, he couldn't see how it would hurt them.

"If by that you mean 'as bad as your parents'? Well, no, they're not _actually _the devil," Christian answered, and Syed tried to disguise his wince. "But, still, Mum'd eat you alive and Dad, well, you'd be lucky if he even noticed you were there."

He liked the sound of that, but he didn't say it. "You know, I'm good with parents. Any parents that aren't mine, anyway," he amended, grimacing. "My mates' parents always liked me, anyway."

"'Course they did. Actually, that's another thing, if my mum likes you even a bit, she'll probably be warning you off me," Christian said.

"And it'll work, 'cos no-one has ever questioned your suitability for me, not ever," Syed said. "I can just about cope with your mum telling me you weren't always this amazing."

"I know, but... okay, never say never, eh?" he said, reluctantly. "Anyway, it's not like we're swimming in money to spend on impromptu trips to Florida right now, is it?"

"Yeah," he said, not adding anything as he desperately wanted to, sensing that Christian had declared the topic closed. "So, tea?"

"Yeah, thanks," Christian replied, too brightly, and Syed suspected the thanks was at least partially for letting the topic drop without a struggle.

"Christian. You know that I..."

"What?"

Christian, wearied as he looked, still had an aura of contentment clinging to him and Syed realised he didn't need any reassurance of his feelings, and reaffirming his feelings aloud would just be a comfort to himself, and would do nothing for Christian except raise his suspicions and Syed couldn't deal with it. "Totally forgot what I was going to say. Honestly, I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached. Let's just hope Ian has some non-cheapo teabags, eh?"

The christening was smooth-sailing according to Christian. This was despite the fact that the reluctantly-invited mother had turned up drunk, the priest had spent most of his time attempting to look down Roxy's dress and the baby had almost been dropped by him while he was distracted. The fact that there had been no violence, Christian said, was a major turning point in the curse of the Mitchell special occasion. It seemed like a head-to-toe disaster to Syed, but Christian seemed happy enough, so he supposed that made him happy, too. He fit in so well with these people, all tipsy and laughing and full of energy. Syed mostly just felt vaguely out of place, though he'd been to plenty of these sorts of events before. Maybe it was because he hadn't really been to anything like this with his boyfriend before, where Christian knew more people than he did. Maybe it was just that seeing Christian and Roxy standing together at the bar and laughing, one of Roxy's daughters by her side and one in her arms made him ache for the family occasion he was missing out on. It wasn't fair, he knew, Christian had spent nearly two years missing Walford but had spent all that time keeping it to himself because Syed was so happy back home. The problem was that Christian had people to go back to who would be happy to see him. He could be invited to an event like this without a second thought and his attendance would go without saying. There wouldn't be debates about the private shame of having their disgraced son there versus the public shame of having him conspicuously absent after the mysterious calling off of his engagement. He knew it wasn't Christian's fault, but sometimes he was so jealous of him. It seemed so easy for him, sometimes, and Syed knew that wasn't fair, either. Just because something was _easier _didn't make it _easy. _

Christian walked towards him, smiling broadly. He felt his own mouth curve into a grin, an instinctive reaction he would never want to change. None of this was fair, but it didn't need to be, as long as Christian could look at him like that. Every twinge of resentment and envy evaporated. Without thinking about it, Syed took his hand. Instinctively his eyes searched the rooms for signs of people staring at them. People continued to laugh and talk and dance. Christian smiled at him like he'd done something amazing. In the end, it wasn't, it was so achingly simple. The acting of reaching out, of entangling their fingers, pressing their palms together, like he had a million times before. It wasn't everything he wanted, but it still meant the world. In that moment, all he could feel was Christian's slightly damp palm against his own, fingers entangled, bodies together, beaming at each other. Just for a single moment, nothing else mattered.

They'd said their goodbyes to Christian's family. While Christian was off at Roxy's, Syed was supposed to be doing his, too, but he didn't much fancy having to face his mother again. He sat in the car instead, hoping Christian's visit to his best friend was suitably lengthy that finding him in the car wouldn't be suspect. He sat there for a long time, waiting for Christian. He supposed it was only natural that two days wasn't enough to catch up on such major, life-changing events. Alone with his thoughts, he started thinking about Shabnam, a knot of guilt in his stomach. He wondered what his mother would tell her about his absence. Shabnam would see through any of the 'ill' bullshit, because she knew Syed wouldn't miss her wedding for anything less than a major reason. It didn't seem fair for her to hear it from their mother, who would inevitably lie to her. But that wasn't it, that wasn't why he was feeling guilty. She'd understand him not going to the wedding. It was something else that was bothering him. There was a sudden rap on the window that made him jolt. "Hey, all packed up and ready to go?" Christian asked through the half-rolled down window.

"Actually, there's just one last thing I have to do," Syed told him, smiling more to encourage than out of any genuine happiness in his heart. His stomach was knotted with nerves. He knew this could wait a few hours or days or forever, but it felt suddenly urgent. There was something of a requirement on doing it being here, in this place where his life had changed so dramatically, for the better, in a way he could never have anticipated. He needed to let go of the past, and to do that he had to fully submerge himself in it.

"Okay, Sy," Christian whispered, kissing his temple gently. "I'll be in the car."

Syed looked back and saw Christian watching him go, practically feeling the confusion coming off him in waves as he headed towards the Square and sat down on Arthur's bench, getting his phone out.

"Hiya, Shabs. Congratulations," he said. "Yeah, that's why I'm ringing, actually. I can't come. I'm really sorry, I just... can't. No, I'm not prioritising work above my sister's wedding... Look, it's a long story, have you got some time? I'll get a bank loan out for the call chargers. Look, there's something you need to know."

_October 2010 _

Syed looked sideways at Christian. They'd just run into an old acquaintance of Syed's who he'd never thought much of and had mostly used for his great business connections. It'd mostly been the shallow awkward 'how's things?' conversation between people who'd once spent enough time together to feel obliged to ask the question, but not enough to really care about the answer. He'd not have given it much thought, apart from the fact that Christian had a face like he'd just swallowed a lemon ever since they'd parted ways.

"Hey," he ventured carefully, after fifteen minutes of moody, oppressive silence only broken by Syed's desperate attempts at conversation and Christian's gruff monosyllabic replies. "What's wrong?"

"So we're _friends_, are we?" Christian asked, the word '_friends_' ground out between his teeth like it was physically painful to say.

Syed frowned. "I said _boy_friend, I..."

"Funny, that mate of yours didn't seem to make it out either," Christian ground out.

Syed raised his eyes to him. "Look, Christian, I..."

"I thought you were past this, Sy," he said, quietly.

"I _am_," he insisted. "Look, I just..."

"Do you have any idea how much it hurts to see your boyfriend- sorry, _friend_- so ashamed of your relationship that he'll not only _not _introduce you as his boyfriend but will flat-out lie? God, Sy, you could've just said 'this is Christian', but, _no_, you couldn't let this person- who you haven't seen since you were about twelve, so God knows why you even give a shit anyway- think or suspect for a _second _that you were _with _me. Never mind that you'll probably never see this bloke again in your life. You just couldn't bear the thought of this bloke going back to his mates and being all 'you'll never guess who _I _found out is a big gay today'."

"Christian, that's not what I..." Syed tried.

"Forget it, _mate_," Christian snapped, storming off, but not before throwing over his shoulder, "I'll see you at home. Since our relationship is so platonic, you won't mind sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Where're you going?" Syed asked tentatively. Christian had walked in, slammed the door behind him and gone straight into their bedroom without so much as a 'hello'. He felt guilt creep up his stomach. When Christian was pissed-off, he shouted. When he was hurt, he went quiet. Syed could deal with the former far better than the latter. With shouting, it got it out of his system fairly quickly. Quietness meant things went unsaid, and that was how resentments built up. He never quite knew what the right way to approach him was to draw him out. Generally, he just left him alone until he was willing to talk, but tonight, it didn't seem like the right thing to do.

"Out. With friends," he said, again spitting out the word 'friends' like a four-letter word. "And by 'friends', I don't mean 'people I'm madly in love with', just to be clear, 'cos you seem a little unclear on what words mean."

"Don't you think you're overreacting?" Syed asked, and then cringed at the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. If there was one sure way to make Christian's mood _worse_, it was to imply his anger was unjustified. Christian just glared at him, so he tried to backtrack slightly, "I mean, just a bit? Like you said, we'll never see him again, _you've _never even met him before, why does it _matter _so much to you?"

"Because it matters to _you _for all the wrong reasons," Christian retorted.

Syed sighed, running a hand down his face. "Fine. _Fine_. You wanna know why?"

"Yes," Christian said, his voice flat. "I would rather like to know that, actually."

"Because..." he struggled for words, before realising that simple was the way to go, "because he was a _dick_, Christian."

"Yeah, I worked that out for myself, thanks," Christian said, not helping.

He paused, fumbling for words. "And... and I didn't want our relationship become him source of gossip back home, okay?" he said, then seeing the look on Christian's face, he wished the hesitation had been longer.

"Why do you _care_?" Christian burst out, frustrated.

"Okay, I know that sounds bad, that, but... I just... this relationship... _you_... mean so much to me, it's _so _important to me, that I didn't want to cheapen it by making it this bloke's daily scandal, you know? It's not because I'm ashamed of us, it's the _opposite_. If he had been someone who I liked, cared about, respected, I'd've told him in a heartbeat, I promise you. But he was just one of the superficial, self-obsessed people I used to hang around with so they'd never guess who I really was. One of the people I nearly _became_ when... when I'd rather have been anyone else. He's also the exact type of person who'd spread this around like dirty gossip."

"Sy..."

"Okay, I _get _it," he said, ignoring Christian's attempts to butt in. "Next time, I say to hell with it, and just tell him, no matter what. I know I should have just said... I knew how much it would hurt your feelings, but I just... I couldn't _stand_ the thought of that bloke, or anyone he told, thinking our relationship was anything but what it is."

"And what is that, exactly?" Christian asked.

Syed smiled as he considered the words that could summarise what being in love with Christian had been like. "The most amazing thing that ever happened to me."

Christian cocked his head, frowning. "Sorry, you had that mumbly thing going on, care to repeat that?"

"Shut up," Syed replied, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You heard me."

"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry, Sy."

"Why? I'm pretty sure that's my line."

"For thinking the worst of you. For being so _hung up_on this stupid label thing. For being so insecure. I swear to God, there's a younger version of me out there weeping somewhere because I got so worked up about some bloke not calling me his boyfriend. Like, back then, I'd have gotten upset about being tied down... look what you did to me. This is your fault."

"I mean it," Syed said, stroking Christian's face gently. "I'm proud to call you my boyfriend."

_October 2012_

"What was that about?" Christian asked. Syed had to suppress a smile. He'd been driving for fifteen minutes, and he just knew Christian had been dying to ask, but didn't want to look nosy or pushy and had literally waited until he couldn't wait any longer.

"Just tying up some loose ends," he said, deliberately vague, enjoying winding Christian up a bit, and, coincidentally, managing to postpone what promised to be an uncomfortable conversation. He tried valiantly not to laugh at the half-muted snort of frustration that Christian made beside him, but failed. Turning serious, he told him, "I rang Shabnam."

Christian frowned, comprehension not yet dawning. "Your sister? Why?"

"Yeah. She didn't know about me. About us, I mean. I never told her. And obviously my parents didn't, either, " he said. "I knew she'd be okay about it, she's always been... modern as far as these things go. But, I dunno, it was nice that someone, _anyone_, I care about just saw me as _Syed_, not the gay one, or the one who's estranged from the family... it wasn't like I wanted to hide it from her or anything. I wasn't ashamed of it. I just... it was nice and simple and it made me happy that someone still saw me without any of that. Who didn't look at me and think _oh, that's my gay brother who's been disowned." _

Syed glanced at his boyfriend. Christian's countenance was carefully blank, too emotionless to be anything but constructed and he knew he'd hurt him with the admission. "What changed your mind?" Christian asked, his voice flat.

"My mum," he said and at Christian's look of total disbelief, he gave a sharp laugh. "Well, you know, she didn't go 'son, you tell your sister you're gay' or anything. I mean, she asked me to go to Shabnam's wedding, but expected me to act like the old Syed. And I realised I couldn't do it. That's when I realised being _Syed_ is all of that, all of the mess as well as the good stuff. If she didn't know I was gay, she _wasn't _seeing me, because it's a part of me as much as anything else, and her seeing me like my old self, it was just a lie. It wasn't some form of comfort like I told myself. It's not fair for her not to know her own brother, right? I would hate it if she was hiding something this big from me, you know? I... I wasn't trying to deceive her or hide us from her, I was... just clinging to this one, tiny remnant of my old life, this one simple thing from my childhood that hasn't changed. But... I don't _want _any of my old life. All of the lies and pretence, all the shame and hurt... I don't want any part of it anymore. I don't want to go to weddings I can't be myself at, I don't want my sister asking about my girlfriends... I just want the truth. A life with you. The only honest thing I've ever had."

Christian sat, uncharacteristically silent, waiting for him to continue. Syed sensed it was less from respect than not knowing what to say, but he appreciated the pause to gather his thoughts anyway.

"I told her about you, y'know. She remembers you, by the way," he said, laughing. "She was less bothered that it was with a man than she was I'd go for a man with '_that hair'_ which, by the way, I now have a burning desire for pictures of. Next time I see Jane or Roxy, I'm totally bribing them. Maybe Lucy, actually, she could torture you a bit first. Shabs is a bit jealous, though, 'cos she always thought she'd be the rebellious one marrying a wild one who'd piss the parents off, and from the sounds of things, her fiancé has 'Mum-suitable' written all over him. She really does love him, though, she just wishes he wasn't so parent-friendly. I've co-opted her role as the family rebel, she's most disgusted."

"She was okay, though?" Christian asked, gently. "I mean, it must've been a shock."

"Surprised would be a better word, but, yeah, she was fine," he said. "She even said it made sense. She always wondered why I could never keep a girlfriend and why I always quite _so_ eager to please Mum and Dad. So she was surprised, but she wasn't, too, if that makes sense. She said she'd try to talk to our parents about the de-invite, but I don't like her chances."

"That's something, right?" Christian asked, encouragingly. "Y'know, two out of four ain't bad. I know I always appreciated having Jane when my parents were being twattish about it, even if we were on the outs more often than not."

"It's just a shame Tam and Shabs being supportive doesn't really make much of a difference in the grand scheme of things," Syed said, smiling sadly.

"I'm really sorry, Sy, I shouldn't have pushed you into coming up here."

"It's not your fault. Anyway, I'd rather be hurt with the truth than comforted by a lie. Learned that particular lesson the hard way," he said, smiling sadly. "If stuff with my parents isn't as good as I thought, I want to know. And it's not like stuff is totally irreparable, you know? It's taken a huge step back from where I _thought_ we were, yeah, but at least we're _talking_. Even if it's not in the way I thought we were."

"It's okay, you know, to be upset," Christian replied, softly. "You don't have to pretend with me. _Ever_."

"Oh, I'm upset, trust me. It hurt more than anything's hurt me in a long time," he said, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat so he could speak further. "But I knew stuff would be different when I chose you. I figured I'd never even talk to them again, probably. I was willing to give all that for you, and... I'm living with this choice I made. It hurts like hell sometimes, but if putting up with this sort of hurt is what I have to deal with to be with you, then... well, I haven't really got much choice. It's not like I'm ever going to stop being with you, no matter what. Besides, I'd much rather be hurting because my family are in my life, than hurting because they're not. That makes sense, right?"

"Yeah, that makes sense," Christian said. "Of course it does."

"I mean, sometimes I wish things could go back to how they were. I mean, stuff wasn't perfect, especially with Dad, but... it was something," he said, slightly wistful. "But for all that to happen, for my family to go back to that, there couldn't be an us, and I just can't live like that. Not just without you, but hating myself. All the setbacks...I mean, this pain is nothing compared to...how I used to think about myself. How I used to feel about myself, about my feelings for you..." He shook his head. "It's a drop in the ocean."

"I just wish you didn't have to go through any of this for me," Christian said, and for the first time in the conversation, Syed couldn't feel his eyes watching him.

"Hey, look at me," he said, and Christian complied. "If it helps any, you're completely and totally worth every second of it."

Christian shrugged modestly. It didn't suit him. "Well, it helps a little."

"Good," Syed said, with a smile a little too bright, "'cos it's true."

"I love you, Sy," Christian said with so much earnestness it made his stomach flip.

He glanced at Christian, but kept his focus on the road as he uttered his next sentence. "We should go to Florida, you know," he said.

"That has got to be the weirdest reply I've ever had to an 'I love you'."

Syed frowned, laughing slightly. "I just mean... some day, you know? Obviously we can't afford it. But, you know, my whole family knows about us now. I want your family to know me too. Even if they don't like me, or whatever, I just... I want to get to know this part of you I've never got to see."

"Sy, there's no way anyone could ever not like you," Christian informed him.

Rolling his eyes, Syed replied, "I could name a few..."

"Idiots don't count," he replied, bluntly, leaving no room for argument.

"Christian?"

Knowing he'd avoided the question, Christian sighed, relenting. "Sure, we can go, when we can afford it. It's not like you're the problem," he said. "My mum'll just probably think I had to pay you. A good Muslim boy with Christian Clarke. Wonders will never cease."

"No, they won't," he replied, laughter in his voice. "Did you ever see your life turning out like this? You know, in a committed relationship with someone like me."

"Never," he said. "I never thought I'd ever get this lucky."

"Me either," Syed said.

He turned his focus back to the road. Then he felt Christian's hand cover his on the steering wheel. He turned back, and Christian was smiling gently at him. His heart lurched and it put all the regret and pain from the past couple of days into perspective. He couldn't give this up, not ever, he couldn't even pretend to want to. He didn't want to pretend to a single person, stranger or blood relation, that Christian was anything but the single greatest thing that has ever happened to him.

And he knew that there was nowhere else he'd want to be, and no-one else he would rather be with. He felt like his whole life had been leading to this moment, driving home with the love of his life. The ordinariness of it struck him as particularly poignant and he felt overwhelmed with love. Just the merit of having Christian with him rendered the most mundane activities special. The thought of having a whole lifetime of normality, of sleeping and meals and sex and work and arguments and laughter, filled him with joy. A whole life of Christian, _with _Christian, there was nothing he could ever want more. A hundred and fifty miles from home, and he couldn't help but feel like he was already there.


End file.
